


On Common Ground

by lazarusthefirst



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, The Hobbit
Genre: Baggenshield - Freeform, Crossover, Daenerys - feelings of uncertainty, Daenerys and Thorin are budz, Fili/Kili - barebacking, Gen, M/M, PTSD - Thorin/dragons, Thorin - feelings of inadequacy, request fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst/pseuds/lazarusthefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daenerys Targaryen is on the Iron Throne, and is in desperate need of allies. After discovering the possibility of another land across the sea, she makes contact with the dwarves of Middle Earth, ruled by Thorin Oakenshield, king under the mountain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request crossover, all credit for the idea goes to consulting-loser.tumblr.com
> 
> Details relevant up to and around A Feast For Crows. Any canonical mistakes in plot device, spelling, or character deaths, is entirely my own fault. I've taken some liberties with the body count of both stories, but the only crucial one is that obviously the line of Durin has not been destroyed horribly.  
> This started out as a oneshot request but it's taken on a life of it's own, I'm not sorry. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own or claim credit for any of the characters, events, or place names within this story
> 
> Find me on tumblr wolfbuttz.tumblr.com

The morning breeze was hot with the embers of dragon flame. Daenerys Stormborn had declined to see petitioners this morning in favour of standing at the balcony of her chambers, feeling the heat of the wind and anticipating the afternoon that was promised. Viserion was restless. It had to be today.

She'd been aware of the existence of distance shores for three months now, ever since Drogon had returned from over the south seas with grass caught between his feet and arrows embedded in his soft underbelly. He'd been tired, but the arrows had barely affected him, which did nothing to distill Dany's outrage. It was only when her people informed her that the arrows were not of any craftsmen of Westeros or any other land that she began to take more of an interest.

She had left one of the arrows on a small shelf beside her mirror, to remind herself of the possibilities which lay over the horizon. She lifted it down now and gazed at it, running her fingers across the smooth wood. Her craftsmen had informed her that it had been made in a milder climate, though not on any wood that he had seen before. Furthermore, it was diminutive, like a child's arrow. There had been speculation about this possibility, until she herself had argued that why on earth would a child be firing arrows at a dragon at all. There was also much evidence, available only to those aware of the properties of trees and the weapons they produce, to support this arrow belonging to an adult species. It was sturdy, Dany could feel that now, and far too heavy to be fired by a child. Greer, the brown skinned man who crafted bows for Dany’s city guard, had been of the opinion that it would need a small but strong bow to cast such an arrow.

All of this meant little to Dany; she was no expert in war craft. But she did know that there was some species across the water, possibly very far across, who were not afraid to take on a dragon, despite possibly being very small in size. She gripped the arrow tightly and wondered about such beings. She needed allies here, and she needed them now.

Ever since Drogon had returned, she had been growing and nursing the tiny seed of an idea in her mind, feeding it with hope brought by the news of the arrow. It could be an awful idea. These could be a savage, poisonous people, resentful of a female youth as queen and harboring a terrible hatred of dragons. But at least then she would know, and would return to King’s Landing knowing that she had exhausted all her options. There were rumours of a rebellion, orchestrated between Casterly Rock and Highgarden. Dany was ready to unleash Viserion and Rhaegal at it at the first sign from her informants, but she would not do it without cause. She would not be like the mad king Aerys, ready to unleash a fiery hell at the slightest whisper of dissent. But now she was thinking in a different direction. Drogon was terrifying, and she rarely let him loose on the Westerosi hoards, simply because he was far more prone to chasing down survivors to their home and devouring their children too. Viserion and Rhaegal seemed to be better at understanding her instructions. However, given that she was now set upon leaving Westeros temporarily, she knew it would be wise to leave Drogon behind, despite his tendency to be completely unpredictable and more or less uncontrollable. He would not attack her King’s Landing retinue, she’d been sure to stress that very early on. Her blood riders had some semblance of control over him, and she could improve on that before she left.

But she would have to leave. She would take Viserion, whose beautiful cream and gold scales would probably seem the least threatening. Viserion was swift and fast; not as strong as Drogon nor as vicious as Rhaegal, but speed and time were of the essence. Viserion was also the smallest, though this was one of the minor, insignificant details that Dany put to her assortment of worriers and nay-sayers. Missandei was clearly terrified at the idea of her leaving the relative safety of King's Landing by herself and going on a seemingly suicidal journey across the water. Dany did not like the idea of leaving Westeros to its fate, but she believed she had found a good temporary leader in Ser Barristan.

Her blood riders were fierce too, and loyal. She had toyed with the idea of bringing one of them along with her. They had been with her from her timid beginnings as a Khaleesi, and had trusted her when she emerged from the flames unscathed. She was surer of their courage and valor than she was of anyone else in her court. But it would mean leaving Drogon with one less familiar handler and her court with one less sword. Ser Barristan would take over command of the throne in her stead, and she would leave Rakharo, Aggo and Jhogo at his side.

And she would depart on what her handmaids were whispering was a suicide mission, across a sea that had been thought to have no end. Possibly she would fall off the edge of the earth, and Viserion would be too tired to fly all the way back. She felt fear fluttering in her ribcage like a moth against an oil lamp.

But she was determined. She would bring this country under her control, but she could not do it with the fear of her dragons alone. She needed more men, and she swore to the moon and stars that she would get them.


	2. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another dragon approaches Erebor, but this time it is not all that Thorin Oakenshield expects it will be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is going somewhere, stay with me I beg

When Thorin Oakenshield felt his ears vibrate from concussion shocks in the air again, he felt like he’d strayed into a nightmare. What plight so besieged the line of Durin that these cursed fire drakes would not leave his family alone?

He did not waste time in checking the skies. He roused the dwarven armies from the depths of the Lonely Mountain, already on high alert after the previous two raids. Between him and his two heirs, Fili and Kili, they awoke the fire of Erebor and soon hoards of dwarves, eager to exact their revenge, were pouring through the mountain tunnels and out the gates, making their way towards Dale. This time, they would take the fight to the dragon.

Thorin lead the charge, with his nephews on one side, and brother in arms, Dwalin, on the other. Those who had helped him to reclaim Erebor from Smaug were particularly incensed at this violation. A fire burned in Thorin’s heart as he gripped the pommel of Orcrist tight. They could see the dragon now, soaring in from the north, behind the mountain. It had not yet roared or breathed fire, but Thorin knew it was only a matter of time. And he knew that, this time, there would be no more quests to reclaim their homeland. This time, they would make safe the mountain forever, or perish in the attempt.

He bellowed for the archers as the dragon swooped closer. It was not yet near enough to see the depths of its eyes, but it was as close as Thorin was willing to allow it. Arrows soared towards the dragon’s unprotected belly, and its screech upon impact pierced Thorin’s brain, leaving him temporarily deafened. Around him he could see his kin clutching at their ears and dropping their weapons. Smaug had not caused them to react thus. What foul breed of creature was this?

Thorin felt blood drip from his ears, and fear chilled his bones. He was unaware of the time passing, but found himself on his knees, some time later. It may only have been minutes. Around and behind him, his brethren were getting to their feet, clutching their axes and swords uncertainly, looking to Thorin for guidance. ‘What in the name of Durin is this new foe?’ growled Dwalin, ready in a battle stance beside him. ‘Thorin,’ said Fili urgently, ‘what do we do?’

Thorin looked up and saw a sight that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Until now, he had never actually seen the full form of a dragon; they had always been too busy swooping and diving and burning his home to pose for a portrait. Now, he could take in its full, terrifying majesty, for it hung in the air in front of them, maybe fifty feet off the ground, gold and cream scales glittering in the morning light. It appeared quite becalmed, despite the arrows sticking out of it's belly, and they braced themselves as it flapped its wings once, twice, to remain airborne and in roughly the same position.

A gasp came from his right. Kili, who had exceptional eyes, was gaping up at the dragon with something nearer to awe and fascination than dread and confusion, as Thorin saw reflected in the eyes of all surrounding him. ‘Look!’ The young dwarf was pointing towards the dragon. Fili gripped his brother’s arm urgently and dragged it down, lest the dragon become agitated, but Thorin followed the wide-eyed gaze of his nephew. He thought that the dragon would be the most incredible thing he’d see in his lifetime, but the sight of the pale, blonde girl sitting astride it’s back caused his grip on his sword to slacken, almost loosening completely.

He tried to utter an oath, but he could not find the words. He felt Dwalin grip his arm, heard Balin gasp and moan in shock behind him, his old heart faltering under the incredible sight of this girl, who looked like an elf from this distance, though something told Thorin that she was not anything he had yet encountered.

Before he could do something very stupid and unlike him, the girl began to shift in what looked like a makeshift saddle. His army startled at the movement, and Thorin threw up his arm. ‘Hold!’ he roared, and the felt thousands of tense eyes fix upon the dragon’s enormous form as it began to lose altitude. Thorin did now know what would happen if that thing set foot on his land – already he could see the banners flying in Dale, and worried about the possibility of another assault, for they could be caught in the crossfire, or anger the beast. Who knew what kind of magical control the girl was asserting over it, and how tenuous it was?

A tremendous thud shook the ground like an earthquake as the dragon landed at last. ‘Hold,’ Thorin growled fiercely again, knowing he could not be heard by all but hoping against hope that they took his lead.

The silence was incredibly strained. He could hear the harsh breaths of his nearest kin, and the deep rumbling of the beast’s labored breathing, but nothing else. It seemed fatigued, as far as he could tell.

The girl, who was beginning to climb down from the beast’s back, distracted them all now with her movement. Though she was at least thirty feet off the ground, she slid down the side of the dragon’s withers, and made a kind of ladder out of the menacing spikes protruding from the back of its leg. She climbed down with a remarkable grace, and when she stood finally on the ground, she knelt for a moment and felt the earth. Seemingly unfazed by the thousands of armed dwarves standing a mere hundred yards away, she gathered a palm-full of soil and lifted it to her nose, inhaling. The dragon shifted, grounding the earth between its claws. Thorin held his breath.

After what seemed like a week, the girl stood up, rubbing the bits of remaining dirt onto her plain tunic and breeches. She began to approach, and the company became so agitated that Thorin had roar at them against his better judgment. His voice was so unexpectedly loud after the dreadful silence that there was instant hush, and Thorin braced himself for the dragon’s roar.

But the dragon didn’t really seem to care. In fact, it was curling up, still rumbling deep in its chest. It glared at them all, and Thorin shivered under its dreadful gaze. The girl, who hadn’t reacted to this interaction between dwarves and dragon in the slightest, was now only meters away from Thorin, who felt it was time to step forward. Fili and Kili were only a few steps behind him; he could sense their boundless nervous energy vibrating back and forth between them, like static.

Up close, Thorin could see that although her clothes were dull in tone, they were made of fabrics he’d never seen before, even in the clothes of elves. There was a rich pattern on the front, and she wore a kind of light, flexible armor that protected her breasts and shoulders. Again, he could barely guess its materials. Her hair was long and platinum, almost white, and her eyes were the most piercing colour he’d ever seen. Like sapphire, but not quite. The nearest he could place it was, Gods help him, one of the veins of colour running through the Arkenstone. A wild, dark, violet. He was mesmerized, by both her youth and beauty, but also by the incredible poise and grace that shimmered around her very being.

‘Well met, my lord,’ she said, and Thorin was struck again by her youth and high voice. She did not compare to dwarf years; the nearest he could place her was to an elf just passing the hundred year mark, for he had never seen an elven child. He suspected she was human, and would have thought further on the matter, but she was speaking again.

‘I am Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. I am also known as Khaleesi, and the Mother of Dragons.’ She smiled, and gestured back towards the dragon. ‘This is Viserion, one of my three children.’

The dragon made no movement, for which Thorin thanked the Gods.

‘We mean you no harm, and have come to seek friendship and council in this foreign land.’

Thorin knew he should show no fear or deference to this foreigner who called herself a queen. His pride made him stand tall, though she was, of course, taller than he was by perhaps a foot. She was slight, and delicate, but there was steel in her eyes and the set of her jaw, though he gaze was benevolent.

He stepped forward, feeling a shudder of awe run through him. ‘I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thor, King under the mountain. These are my brethren,’ he gestured behind him, and his nephews stepped up, one on either side.

‘Fili, son of Dis, at your service.’

‘Kili, son of Dis, at your service.’

Thorin thought their bows were a bit much, but to his surprise, Daenerys inclined her head and acknowledged, ‘And I at yours.’

Her accent was strange, lilting, and very different. Her composure seemed to slip a little as she took in the sheer amount of the dwarves behind them. Fili and Kili remained quite tense beside Thorin, who felt it was time to move, before Dale was fully roused.

‘You say it is friendship you seek. An alliance, perhaps?’ Thorin didn’t want to make it seem like they were eager for war, but that dragon looked like it could go through a hoard of Gundabad orcs like a blade through butter.

Daenerys smiled grimly. ‘Something of that manner. I would speak with you, and your kin, if you should have me. Viserion shall remain outside, of course.’

‘Of course,’ replied Thorin, trying not to let his unease show. ‘But first…my lady… you are not from Middle Earth? Not from here, you say?’ She’d mentioned the Andals, and the seven kingdoms, nowhere Thorin had ever heard of before.

Daenery’s expression cleared. ‘Middle Earth,’ she said, as if tasting the words. ‘No, I am not from here. I come from the continent of Westeros, a land I have struggled for many years to reclaim from usurpers. I would tell you the whole story, if you will, and perhaps learn something of your own culture. If you deem my tale to be true and my character trustworthy, I’m sure we can realize our own mutual interests.’

Thorin didn’t really know what to say to that, but he knew how to be a gracious host, and how to deal with foreign dignitaries. And this girl queen was far more agreeable than the elves and humans. Not to mention closer to him in height.

‘Of course, my lady,’ said Thorin, inclining his head, then beckoned behind him. Dwalin was at his side in moments.

‘Send Gloin and Balin to Dale, inform them of the…situation. Let them know the dragon is not to be approached nor harmed, and also that we are not under attack. I want you to set a guard around the perimeter of the mountain also, in case others were attracted by the lady’s arrival.’ He still couldn’t quite settle on the correct honorific, but it seemed wrong to ask her upright what kind of title she preferred.

Daenerys said nothing of this exchange, only studied Fili and Kili, whom Thorin sensed rather than saw shuffling their feet in some discomfort.

‘Forgive me,’ she said, apologetically, noticing their movements. ‘I have never seen your like before.’

Thorin raised his eyebrows.

‘The same can be said for us, my lady.’

Though the gesture made him feel like a princely elf, he offered his arm. Daenerys graciously took it, and Thorin was glad of his beard and armor. He felt incredibly stupid, but supposed that she was used to such treatment. The sea of scruffy, bearded dwarves parted as Thorin led the graceful child queen into the mountain city.


	3. Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is talking and dwarves being awkward and Dany being a charming goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has Fili's POV, but also Dany's. I'll be switching back and forth between Dany, Thorin, Fili, and Kili, with the possibility of Balin too. 
> 
> This is turning out to be more fun than I'd thought, so who knows how far I'll have to go before I'm satisfied :D

It was as strange a situation as any Fili had ever found himself a part of.

Though the dwarves as a race had parlayed with many strange races in their time, none had inspired the kind of curiosity and open intrigue he saw from his elders as this waif of a girl had, who called herself queen and rode upon the back of a dragon.

The sight of that monster, who was at least as big as Smaug, had effected Fili and his brother more than either of them cared to admit. While they had been making their way through the great front hall of Erebor, Fili had drawn Kili back and examined him gently for signs of shock. He knew the kinds of near misses they’d both faced the last time around, when the huge black beast had bore down on the mountain. Kili had brushed him off, mindful of the other dwarves milling around them, but Fili had stayed his hand. Their brethren were far too wrapped up in this new enigma on the arm of their uncle to pay much heed to the cares of the young heirs of Durin. But he’d seen it in his eyes. Kili had been badly shaken. Fili had gripped his arm tight, but no words were necessary, for his own arm still shook.

They were gathered within the inner chamber of Thorin’s quarters, designed for receiving honoured guests, just off the dining hall. It was little used, and the dwarves did not feel the resulting chill, being quite used to the stone and the cold, but Balin quickly had the servants light the torches in the stone wall brackets and awaken a fire in the great hearth.

A feast was being prepared next door in the girl’s honour, and since the chefs had no idea what kind of tastes a foreign child queen was used to, and fearing themselves too uncouth to ask, they were doubtless preparing two of everything. Fili feared that greenery would outnumber the meat platters, as Kili had informed him that many in the outer halls believed her to be some species of elf.

At present, Thorin was introducing Daenerys to the few noble dwarves that Erebor could boast, a group that mostly consisted of those who’d joined Thorin in his quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. Fili and Kili, having already made their introductions, waited behind Thorin’s chair as he escorted Daenerys around the circle of bemused dwarves, being wholly unused to this kind of greeting. Fili had a notion that Thorin was only making such a spectacle of their limited hospitality because he was remembering the manners enforced upon him in Rivendell and Dale. Clearly, he too thought she was some kind of elf.

As they watched, Fili and Kili had to smother smiles as a very nonplussed Ori did his best to make what he thought were the right greetings, and ended up almost giving his mother’s name, rather than his father’s. There was a general air of bemusement in the high-ceilinged hall; elves were usually greeted with cold, grudging respect based on their mutually assured destruction, or close enough so that it wouldn't matter, as well as their frosty pasts. Humans were more jovial, and the dwarves moved better amongst them, not having to mind their words as much. They were of course heads and shoulders over Hobbits, shy and non-threatening as they were. But as no one knew quite how to treat this girl, and were terrified of the potential ruin she could bring them, they were erring on the side of extreme caution.

Elves neither sought nor offered pleasantries when they deigned to set foot in Erebor, but this child queen accepted each proffered hand and heard each muttered family lineage with grace, and replied in kind, smiling, and wished each dwarf a unique blessing in some rough, harsh tongue that seemed wholly out of place coming from her delicate mouth, yet had the effect of reminding all present of their own language, and set all at east.

Fili, however, was not relaxed. Certainly he could appreciate her charm, but he was so eager to hear her story that he could barely stand to be still throughout these labored proceedings.

Later, after hearing Daenerys speak, he felt guilty for ever referring to her as ‘girl.’

 

*****

Daenerys had never before been thus received, either as a Khaleesi of a Dothraki hoard or as a conqueror in Westeros.

These diminutive men-folk were clearly intimidated by Viserion and the manner with which she herself had spoken of her dragons. Yet their king, this Thorin Oakenshield, possessed such an air of incredible power and majesty, that she felt quite cowed to be on his arm.

Their proceedings and greetings felt stiff and too formal. Dany believed that this kind of show was put on solely to impress her, and wished that she could tell them not to go to so much trouble. She longed to sit down with what she believed was the king’s inner circle, and become acquainted in something closer to Dothraki fashion, minus the bloodshed, which she believed would suit them all better. Indeed, after her long months in Meereen, and her time dancing the political steps in Westeros, she had grown immensely tired with politicking and the mincing of clever words. She missed the plain honesty of her bloodriders, and the simple way with which their society was conducted.

She was also incredibly exhausted. They had flown for a week straight, stopping only once on a tiny island, no bigger than the courtyard at King’s Landing, to gather fresh water from a tiny spring and for Viserion to dive into the waves, returning later smelling strongly of fish and blood. She’d had to tie herself into the saddle to prevent from falling off in her sleep, and twice they’d had to brave the seas in order to Viserion to rest his wings. She had spent that time in a state of high unease, fearing the dark shapes in the black waters. As a result, she was dehydrated and starving, and she longed to sit down to a hearty meal, and learn all she could about these people and their ways. First though, she knew, she would be required to explain herself.She was not unaware of the fact that she was entirely at the mercy of these people, and winced slightly when she realized she did not even know what to call them.

At last, the circle of low-voiced, bearded men was complete, and Thorin bid her sit in a blessedly high-backed, padded chair, beside the fire. The younger men whom Thorin had named his heirs were standing to her far left, on either side of Thorin’s chair, in a somewhat protective stance. The other men in the room shuffled around in a small, muttering group, before they too took up a stance than could only be described as restive. Daenerys suddenly realized they were waiting on her to speak.

She cleared her throat, somewhat awkwardly. ‘My lords,’ she began, addressing the room as a whole. ‘I thank you for your hospitality, and for your acceptance of one who is strange and unknown to you into your home.’

There was a short murmuring amongst the gathered crowd, which Dany took as encouragement. Thorin looked interested, but watchful. Dany tried not to quail under his piercing gaze.

‘I also would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to your king, Thorin Oakenshield, for allowing my dragon to remained unmolested outside.’ Dany felt this item was potentially contentious; she had guiltily observed the scorch marks on the higher pillars of the entrance hall as they had entered.

Thorin inclined his head towards her in acknowledgement. Feeling that more was expected of her, she continued, ‘I know you must have many questions of me. Pray do not let ideas of perceived niceties or worries of committing social faux pas prevent you from inquiring of me in any matters you are unsure of. For example,’ she paused, and prayed she wasn’t about to impale herself upon her own sword, ‘regarding species, and my own history. I am a human, though very young, not yet sixteen summers. I am of noble birth, but spent the first thirteen years of my life hiding with my elder brother from agents of the usurpers who stole my kingdom and killed my family. We escaped persecution and death across the Narrow Sea, after they threw down my father and brother. During this voyage my mother sacrificed herself to bring me into the world, amidst a dreadful storm, earning me the nickname of ‘Stormborn’.’

At this point she stopped for breath, and felt every eye in the room fixed upon her. Thorin was gripping the arms of his seat, but his expression was unreadable.

Dany glanced instead to the two standing behind him. The golden haired one’s face was as impassive as his uncle’s, but the eyes of the dark haired one – Kili – were bright with interest and excitement. He caught her gaze, and winked lazily. Dany was somewhat startled by his forward manner, but this encouragement was like a strong drink of wine. She continued.

‘I was sold at age thirteen to a warrior-king, by my remaining brother, Viserys. Khal Drogo was the leader of a multitudinous hoard of Dothraki, a barbaric tribe of huge men who lived on horseback and conquered wherever they roamed. I became Khal Drogo’s queen, or Khaleesi, until he was slain by a Lhazareen maegi.’

Dany paused again. The memory still angered and saddened her.

‘I continued on through the desert, with naught but a band of starving followers, and those Dothraki still loyal to Drogo, and to me. We journeyed across many lands, and encountered many evils. But as my dragons matured, I persisted in my quest to retake the Iron Throne of Westeros. My true home. I now hold power there but tenuously, for rebellion grows in every corner. I have left the throne in the capable hands of what remains of my old khalasar, and my other two dragons. But when word reached my ears of the possibility of a new land…’ Dany shrugged, gracelessly. ‘I simply had to see for myself.’

There was promise there, behind that last, and Dany knew that Thorin had heard it. He did not comment on it, however, but straightened a little more in his seat.

‘My lady,’ he said. ‘We are truly amazed by your story.’ He sounded it, too, Dany thought, mildly astonished. She did not think her story so remarkable.

‘These tidings you bring of lands unknown are fascinating to me,’ he continued. ‘After we eat I would have you tell us more, and we in turn will share stories and information of our own lands and history. If,’ he said, ‘that would please you?’

Dany could not help but beam at him. ‘That would be most welcome, my lord.’

Thorin seemed greatly relieved, but covered that expression swiftly. He rose, and Dany marveled again at the sheer power he embodied in so small a form. He gave quick directions in a short, cutting language, and the men she’d marked as servants standing near the door bustled out and began barking orders in their own tongue.

As the men began to stir and make ready to leave, Thorin approached Dany, who rose expectantly.

‘My lady,’ he said quietly, ‘do not think me untoward, but I am under some confusion as to what kind of title you would prefer?’

Dany smiled again. Thorin was a fighter and a leader, a true king, not a politician. Dany was determined to treat him as such.

‘We appear to be of the same position, my lord,’ she replied gently. ‘And as I am a guest in your home, I would be honoured to refer to _you_ in whatever manner you deem preferable. Unless,’ she smirked, feeling bold, ‘you would prefer to cast aside tedious manners and simply continue as we began?’

There passed a nervous moment where Dany was afraid she’d overstepped. Thorin said nothing, and then, to her relief and delight, quirked an eyebrow at her tone, and a small smile flickered across his bearded face, which Dany saw now was more youthful than she’d first thought, and more than a little handsome.

‘My lady,’ Thorin said dryly, offering his arm.

Dany laid her arm on his, smiling. ‘My lord.’


	4. Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food brings talk. Thorin/Kili POV. SPOILER ALERT if you have not read The Hobbit! (Also my take on how The Hobbit should have ended - Sorry Tolkien, we disagree on this one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stop writing this. Every chapter brings new ideas! Thanks to all your suggestions, Bilbo may make an appearance yet :)

Following Daenerys’ apparent honesty regarding her personal history, Thorin did not feel the need to subject her to the various musing and interruptions that would doubtlessly interrupt his own telling of the recent dwarf history. Dwarven respect for authority could only stretch to a certain point, and Thorin had a feeling that his particular band of follower’s personal line in the dirt was the incorrect telling of a good tale.

Thorin, however, was not one for embellishments or storytelling. He had little practice in charming large audiences, generally getting on the fact that he had quite a loud voice and there was generally a battle of some sort to be fought when the time came for him to use it. And of course, that kind of speech sounded much more impressive in Dwarf tongue.

While they ate, however, Thorin felt it wise to fill Daenerys in on a few key points that would make any future conversations with the dwarves much easier for her. As they picked their way through the frightfully green starters, he took advantage of the gentle roar of quietly protesting dwarves, which created a muffling, waterfall effect, to lean in to Daenerys and get her ear as unobtrusively as possible.

‘Do you know the name of our species, my lady,’ he said quietly as he examined a curious kind of leaf impaled on the edge of his knife. He did not wish to presume her ignorance. Daenerys flushed slightly, but admitted she did not. She herself had been delicately spearing various leaves and fruits from her platter in a manner that looked both pleasing and appetizing to Thorin, though he had no idea how she did it. She looked worried that he would take offence now, but Thorin just nodded.

‘We are Dwarves, descended from the line of Durin. This is our home, Erebor, also known as the Lonely Mountain.’

Daenerys looked fascinated. ‘Dwarf is a word I am familiar with, but not, I think, as a species. Dwarves in my own land are a small people, like yourselves, but are not…proportioned correctly.’ She seemed to struggle to find the right word. ‘I do not wish to give offence, but I fear it is more of a birth defect. Their heads are too big, their arms too short. The more common term is Imp, I believe.’ She frowned. ‘I knew an Imp once. Or knew of him. Foul, cunning creature.’ She smiled. ‘Not at all like your own people, from what I have seen.’

Thorin didn’t really know what to make of any of this, but smiled, hoping that would substitute for the words he didn’t have. They continued to eat as Thorin digested what she’d said. He could not picture this kind of dwarf she’d described as anything but a small dwarf child. Her details about the ill-proportioned limbs concerned him some; he feared that the dwarves of her land had suffered some kind of malady or curse.

‘How old are you, Thorin Oakenshield,’ Daenerys asked casually, popping a tiny tomato her mouth.

Thorin answered without thinking. ‘Two hundred years, as of the start of this year.’

Daenerys nearly choked on her food. Thorin looked at her, rather alarmed, as she coughed her way back to coherence. She stared at him, once she’d gotten her breath back, as though seeing him in an entirely new light. Thorin worried that Kili’s jokes about grey at the back of his head were not as light-hearted as he’d initially dismissed them as.

‘I’ve never heard of one so old,’ Daenerys breathed. Thorin saw admiration in her eyes, and something a little like awe. ‘You appear as though just past your fortieth summer.’

Thorin began to feel foolish at his lack of oral contribution. ‘Dwarves clearly have a much longer lifespan than your own species, my lady. I am not yet middle aged.’

Daenerys’ food lay forgotten as she leaned closer to him. ‘And your kin?’ she nodded towards Fili and Kili, who were drinking heavily from their cups, clearly hoping that the next course would have more substance than this last one. Thorin followed her gaze.

‘My nephews are in the prime of youth,' he said. 'Though Kili, the younger, has only just begun to grow his beard, they have both proven themselves admirably in the last few years.’ He paused, wondering how much to divulge, but then decided that she deserved as much of his own history as he had received of hers.

And so he began the tale of their quest to retake Erebor from Smaug the dragon. He had intended to give a heavily abridged version, uncomfortable with long storytelling as he was, but Daenerys interrupted with so many questions that he found himself going into much more detail than he had planned. ‘You say the mountain moved?’ Daenerys asked, looked horrified. ‘How could it have moved?’ Thorin tried his best to explain the stone giants, though she had as much trouble accepting these as she had the goblins, which Thorin came to next.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the next course, which was greeted by a thunderous roar of approval, for it consisted of one hundred roast, succulent pigs, numerous large tureens of gravy, great dishes of potatoes and chips, and huge tankards of malt beer. Thorin found himself fretting like a dwarf-maid about whether Daenerys would take offence at the way his kin tore into their food using only blades and bare hands, but she took to it admirably, laying down her own utensils and picking up a leg with her slim-fingered hands.

Thorin watched her in amazement, and she laughed when she caught his expression. ‘You forget, my lord, that I have lived amongst a Dothraki hoard. At my wedding feast, five hundred horses were consumed, and sixteen men were butchered in a mock-battle before my eyes as part of the pre-feast entertainment. Women were taken by the victors, out in the open, and in the most barbaric fashion.’ She shrugged. ‘Table manners have not concerned me since.’

Thorin, utterly taken by surprise by her casual manner, laughed in amazement. Daenerys caught his sudden good humour and laughed with him, and after that they ate in comfortable silence, no longer worrying about appearances.

As the main course dishes were cleared away some time later, Daenerys returned to the subject of the retaking of Erebor. Though it caused him some discomfort to recount the story, for it featured many of his own failures of leadership, Thorin lit his pipe and continued through it as best he could, for he had noticed that Fili and Kili were listening in silence. The tale was particularly difficult for them to remember also, for all three had been grievously wounded in the final battle, the Battle of the Five Armies. It had been a long road to recovery for all concerned, and Kili still bore horrific scars on his back where an orc’s morning star had all but flayed him alive. Fili had broken every rib in his body after a Warg had dragged him off an overhang, and was not as energetic as once of his age should be.

As for Thorin, his voice was deeper than it had been before, and sounded like crunching gravel at times; that, and the huge, ropy scar that was hidden by his hastily regrown beard were the result of Azog’s last desperate attempt to open his throat, before he succumbed to the sword Thorin had planted in his black heart. He had very nearly succeeded in wiping out the line of Durin.

Thorin went through their escape from the goblin tunnels and their encounter with Azog’s company of orcs, their eagle flight, which he had been unconscious for, their imprisonment in the dungeons of the Wood-Elves, and the dark paths of Mirkwood, where they had encountered monstrous spiders and fouler things. He skipped over their time in Lake-town and the briefly surmised the Battle of the Five Armies, where they were saved once again by Gandalf’s warning and the coming of the Eagles.

‘An incredible tale,’ Daenerys murmured, looking deep in thought, as she gently swirled the contents of her goblet.

‘Aye, it is, but he left out the best part,’ Kili piped up, smirking.

The high table at which they were sat was curved, so Daenerys had no difficultly hearing him. She leaned across, looking interested. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Kili, hold your tongue,’ growled Thorin. Kili pretended his voice was too low to hear, as he often did. Fili nudged him gently, but he was far more restive than he used to be, after taking so long to heal.

‘No, please,’ insisted Daenerys, her smile growing.

Kili leaned in conspiratorially and told her the manner of their escape from the palace of the Wood-Elves, in which they were held captive for at least two weeks. Thorin remembered it bitterly; it was a bruise on his pride that had taken a long time to heal, despite its obvious ingenuity and effectiveness. Bilbo had had them all ride down the river in empty wooden barrels to Lake-town, with he himself clinging to the side of one. All of Thorin's nightmares since had featured the smell of apples.

‘I was fine, I was able to curl up quite nicely in my barrel,’ said Kili, leaning back and chewing on his pipe, ‘but the rest of them had bruises and knots in their beards for weeks. I thought Fili would never stop crying about it.’ But when he said Fili’s name, he nodded his head slightly towards Thorin, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Daenerys spluttered into her wine, and clapped her hands to her mouth in an attempt to still her laughter.

Fili leaned back in his chair, quietly chuckling, as Thorin glared at them both. He had long ago given up chastising his nephews for their tricks, and was determined neither would ever hold the throne, not because he did not think them capable, but rather because they were simply too kind-hearted and playful, even Fili. Either one would be miserable, mired in the politics of the dwarf races.

With his tale told, Thorin leaned back in his chair, declining a dessert, and observed his nearest kinsmen talking amongst amongst themselves, while Daenerys chatted amiably to Kili, who drew Fili into the conversation.

‘He’s only older by a few years, not enough to matter to us,’ he grinned, nudging his brother gently.

‘It’s enough,’ said Fili to Daenerys, gravely taking a drink from his cup and raising an eyebrow in a significant manner at the queen. Daenerys was more animated than Thorin had previously seen her; she was relaxed, leaning on her elbows as she talked and listened, and taking tiny, delicate bites of her apple pie. Thorin realized that Kili was right about the age difference, though he hadn’t been thinking along the same lines as Thorin; Daenerys was much closer to Fili and Kili in age, and although she was a queen and incredibly dignified and well-mannered, Thorin knew that she was still very young, and probably lacked the company of others her own age.

He decided to make Fili and Kili her personal escorts throughout her time here; he had a contingent of elves coming in from the east in the next few days that he’d have to deal with – they’d already sent word by raven that they were “curious” about the seemingly benign fire drake the dwarves had sleeping in their front garden. Thorin had no idea how the bastards had gotten word of Daenerys’ arrival so fast.

But he worried about his nephews, too. He knew their tendency to be…closer than was strictly speaking "normal" for brothers to be, even ones so near in age as they were. A different kind of bond. Privately, he had his own suspicions, which he would never voice, even to them, and was content to go on not noticing, provided it did not become a public issue. He did not know, however, how Daenerys would take it if her own suspicions were aroused. She was young, but Thorin had seen her sharp intelligence from the very first moment she’d met his eye.

 

****

 

Kili had lasted longer than he’d thought, but now his curiosity was burning a hole in his head. He’d been listening intently to his uncle’s conversation with the strange, graceful young woman, but had gained little in terms of new information from the mostly one-sided conversation. And judging by her questions, he figured there was still plenty more that she would like to know.

‘Are all your people human then, my lady?’ he asked. ‘Like yourself?’

Daenerys nodded. ‘For the most part, yes. Though we have strange…cultures. Strange breeds of humans. Not so much in Westeros, but certainly across the water, where I came from, in Essos. There’s Slaver’s Bay, and the Unvisited Lands, and the land of Valyria, where the Doom struck. My people came from there, the Targaryens. And the dragons.’ She looked thoughtful, but did not continue.

Kili was nearly hopping out of his seat, but did not want to press too much. Thankfully, Fili came to his aid.

‘Does everyone have dragons where you come from, my lady?’ he asked quietly, and Kili heard the underlying tone of apprehension in his voice.

Daenerys seemed to hear it too. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I understand your people have had great troubles concerning dragons.’ Fili and Kili nodded, not wanting to speak, in case it would throw her off. Daenerys brought her fist to her mouth, thinking.

‘They came to me as eggs,’ she began, her eyes slightly glazed over, as they fell on her goblet, unseeing. ‘Three eggs, given to me as wedding present by a rich man who sought favour with Khal Drogo. They were so beautiful, and I kept them in a richly carved wooden trunk. They called to me, at night. They whispered.’

Thorin was listening too, now, though he said nothing. Like Fili and Kili, they did not want to startle her out of her train of thought. ‘I was so young, and afraid. Afraid of my new husband and his foreign, rough ways, and of my brother, who was so impatient and frustrated at Drogo’s unwillingness to cross the sea and help him win the Iron Throne. He said…he said he would have let anyone use me, even the horses, if it meant he would get his army and his crown.’

Kili was entranced. He could not picture these huge men, but he knew well the roar of battle and the fear, not of being killed, but of being taken prisoner by the enemy. He could not help but shiver slightly at her words. Fili’s hand closed over his, hidden beneath the table. Kili felt a soft, warm heat spread through him from the contact.

‘No sooner had I learned to love the Khal, than he was taken from me.’ Daenerys gaze hardened. ‘Taken by magic, the same magic that took the unborn child from my womb, the Stallion who would mount the world. I gave him to the flames, as I gave she who had exacted her revenge upon the Dothraki in the form of murdering my husband and child. And I…I walked into the flames that night too, to see my Khal into the next life. I listened not to the cries of my bloodriders and my servants. And when the darkness had ended, and the flames were exhausted, I remained. My dragons, my children, had been born from the flames, as I too had been reborn. For fire cannot kill a dragon.’


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys worries about Viserion, and Thorin feels the shadow of an old nightmare upon him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make myself cry b/c Thorin and how we could have had it all. 
> 
> Also, I know how this is going to end now. There'll probably be at least 2 if not 3 more chapters, depending on how it works out. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Daenerys trailed off as she was transported back to the desert lands where the remains of her _khalasar_ had wasted away. She remembered sharply her own grief, guided only by her need to care for her dragons, and to find a place to live. She shivered slightly, though she was not cold.

She became aware of Fili and Kili’s averted gazes, as though they were embarrassed. Thorin’s gaze was piercing. Her eyes flickered to the younger dwarves in concern.

‘I hope I have not disturbed you,’ she said. ‘I am not naturally maudlin. But I have not told many the full tale.’

Fili looked up and met her eyes. ‘No, my lady,’ he said quietly. ‘You honour us with your words. We are similar in age yet have not suffered trials as close to yours in sacrifice and toil.’ He inclined his head. ‘Our silence is a mark of respect, to you, my lady.’

Daenerys felt a little overwhelmed. The sheer kindness in his voice and warmth in his golden eyes was something she was unused to from strangers, and none were so strange as these people. She thought back to the suspicion and fear which she had been forced to treat all who greeted her and gave her hospitality in Pentos. Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos sprang unpleasantly and immediately to mind. Kili, the younger dwarf, kept his dark eyes fixed upon the table, but Dany could see they were troubled and quiet now, where before they had been bright with mischief.

She looked at Thorin, somewhat guiltily. He raised an eyebrow slightly, and one corner of his mouth tugged back in sympathy. ‘Pay them no heed, my lady,’ he murmured. ‘They are but humbled, and their silence will not last long, more’s the pity.’

Dany smiled in relief, and Fili took up his fork once more.

The rest of the meal passed in quiet contemplation for the high table. Around them and throughout the hall, the roar of voices was dying away to a soft but constant murmur of dwarves becoming affected by the drink and the warmth of the hall. Dany sniffed, noticing a fragrant smell on the air. Her eyes were drawn to the corners of the hall, where dark robed servants were tossing flames into small, rounded metal containers perched on delicately wrought iron poles. As she watched, the flames caught whatever powder or substance was inside, and flared a gold. This was the source of the light, sweet smell, and she inhaled deeply through her nose as it wafted over her.

‘You are enjoying the candles, my lady?’ Thorin asked, observing her.

Dany smiled, her eyes closed, breathing in. ‘Oh it reminds me of a very long time ago ...' _a house with a red door '..._  it’s like honey, and summer. What is it?’

‘They are burning candles made from beeswax mixed with an infusion of the Lissuin flower. Or so I am informed,’ Thorin said gruffly. ‘I am aware that dwarves are not the most sweet-smelling of races in Middle Earth.’

Dany laughed, her heart warming to this aloof king. ‘I had not noticed, but I thank you for the consideration.’

Thorin looked mildly embarrassed, though a tiny bit pleased, and took another long drag from his wooden pipe, which Dany noticed was covered in tiny, gold carvings, like a minute form of script, though it was in no language she could recognize.

It took a long time to get all the dwarves up from their seats as Thorin escorted Dany out. As the exited the hall, she quietly expressed a desire to see Viserion, which made Thorin’s face darken, but he agreed. As he conferred with the gruff, tattooed dwarf – Dwalin, she remembered - who seemed to be something of a bodyguard, there was a series of disgruntled noises from the nearest dwarves upon their hearing of Thorin’s orders.

‘The beast is a danger, Thorin,’ pressed a small, white haired dwarf, who stood at Dwalin’s side. ‘Dale has not yet returned our greetings, and the elves are on the move. How do we treat with such a creature and explain to it the dangers?’

Dany stood back a little, nearer to Fili and Kili, interested in observing how Thorin handled disputes. She was not averse to learning from this man who controlled so many.

Thorin looked displeased at the interruption, but kept his voice level. ‘Queen Daenerys is our guest, and has a guest not the right to see to his or her property upon quitting the day?’

The white-haired dwarf didn’t look satisfied with this answer. Another, scrawnier dwarf shoved his way forward.

‘Yeah, but we can’t exactly stable it, can we? Whass’it gonna do for it’s food?’ There were a few shouts of agreement from the assembled crowd.

‘And what happens when it smells the gold?’ another cried out, whose face Dany could not see. Thorin’s expression darkened.

‘This is no normal dragon,’ he snapped, and the nearest around him flinched at his tone of voice. ‘The beast has intelligence, as you all know Smaug had. What will it think when it sees not its mistress after so long an absence? Do we dare provoke it’s rage?’ There was no reply. ‘I am to treat with the elves tomorrow. As to the men of Dale, they have not the heart nor the strength to launch an attack when we care not to do the same.’

‘Men of Dale do not think as we do,’ a sharp-faced dwarf hissed.

‘Nori, hold your tongue,’ snapped Fili. The crowd bristled, and Kili tensed.

Thorin looked around at them all, and when he spoke again, his voice was layered with a new, steel kind of authority. ‘This is not a debate. Go about your business. We shall attend to the dragon privately.’

As the crowd began to reluctantly disperse, getting caught up in the still emerging bodies from the dining hall, Dany’s mind whirled. She was beginning to get a sense of definite unfamiliarity now as she observed the dwarves’ movements. Though she was taller than most by several inches, they were incredibly imposing, and generally much wider and broader. Even Fili and Kili, who were probably considered skinny by dwarf standards, had biceps that bulged under their tunics.

They left the mountain by a different route to the one she had remembered coming in by. Doubtless that had been a more processional route, designed to display her to the dwarf population. Now she was being led through a series of wide, low-ceilinged tunnels. Kili led the small party with a torch, though he seemed not to need it. He and Fili were always a few feet ahead, conversing in low voices that Dany was sure was mostly in the dwarven tongue. Thorin walked by her side, and Dwalin and the white-haired dwarf brought up the rear. Dany sensed hostility from them both, but she tried to ignore it.

‘Smaug was the dragon who took your mountain, wasn’t he?’ she asked Thorin quietly. She sensed it was a time for quiet words.

Thorin didn’t reply right away. ‘Yes, he was,’ he returned. ‘I never met him personally. Our burglar, one of the smaller members of our company, was the one to converse with him. He discovered his weakness, allowing him to be killed by a man named Bard.’ All of this was said with Thorin staring fixedly ahead.

Dany bit her lip, but something was bothering her. ‘When you say “conversed” …’

Thorin looked at her now, mildly surprised. ‘Of course. As you control your dragon.’

Dany exhaled shakily. ‘I do not control my dragon through words,’ she said, very quietly.

The tunnels created an echo. Even Fili and Kili stopped and turned around to stare at her.

Dany tried not to appear defensive. ‘It’s not as bad as you think,’ she said firmly. ‘Viserion understands me to a point, I think. It’s a silent bond, but I can communicate using certain thoughts, mostly.’

‘Mostly.’ Thorin sounded incredulous. ‘And you say you have two more of these creatures?’

Dany tilted her chin up. ‘Yes. Drogon and Rhaegal. Kin to Viserion. My children.’

Thorin shifted slightly. ‘Children.’

Daenerys’ gaze hardened automatically. ‘As I’ve said, they were born of the fire the night I survived its flames. They were begotten unto me, and they recognize me as their mother.’ She leveled her stare at Thorin. ‘And they will obey my commands.’

There was no more discussion after that.

Kili led the way in silence and Daenerys sensed Thorin’s presence beside her, yet she heard him not. The dwarves were remarkably fleet of foot.

They emerged from the mountain by a kind of secret side door, between the feet of one of the great stone dwarves on either side of the doors of Erebor. Daenerys was surprised to find that it was night; the stars were much brighter here, but were few and far between. She did not recognize the constellations, and was confused. Surely she was not so far from Westeros as that?

‘An interesting way of escaping,’ Dany murmured, as she stepped out onto the soft grass.

Kili depositied the flaming torch in a niche in the stone and grinned at her. ‘Fili and I discovered the dent in the wall, and hacked it out when we were scarcely bairnes. Treated it as part of one of our initiation pieces for the brotherhood.’ He winked at her. ‘Balin wasn’t best pleased.’

The white-haired dwarf laughed dryly. ‘Far be it from me to stop the young heirs from excavating half of Erebor. My advice that a secret tunnel that you intended to keep secret was not admissible to the brotherhood was ignored, that is not _my_ fault.’

‘Yes, I still don’t know how you managed that one, brother, given the time you wasted on the tunnel rather than your final piece,’ Fili said thoughtfully, tugging at his beard and looking at Kili with an odd look in his eye.

Kili looked at his brother. ‘I wouldn’t say it was a waste of time,’ he said, a slow, sly grin sliding across his face, wiped away quickly as Dwalin slapped him over the head.

It was only then that Daenerys looked at Thorin, and what she saw sobered her quickly. The dwarven king was gazing upon Viserion, who was a mass of gently heaving golden scales and plumes of smoke, with a look of deep mistrust, and a fear so old and close that Dany shivered to behold it. Silence fell among the dwarves as their eyes were drawn to Thorin.

 

****

 

Thorin had already seen the damn thing. He’d seen it fly in over the mountain, just like Smaug did in every one of his blackest nightmares, which had reached a particularly cruel peak after the coming of the black dragon. He’d seen it land, and left it to sleep on his doorstep like he would the steeds of his neighbours. And throughout the day it had preyed on his mind, gnawing at his senses and leaving his nerves ragged.

He felt exposed, vulnerable. The dragon was not sleeping. It’s body was at rest, but its eyes were open, fixed, unblinking. He was over two hundred yards away, but his vision was narrowing and fraying around the edges, as the sheer power and devastating, contained fury of the dragon drew him in like a fish on a line. Sweat broke out upon his brow, and he attempted to swallow, only to find his mouth dry as a bone.

So now that he was here, facing it, without a hoard of dwarves behind him nor his sword in his hand nor the adrenalin of battle rushing through his veins like liquid metal, they would see the real Thorin Oakenshield; he who awoke, sweating and breathing erratically, a very different dwarf in the dark of the night.

And he could _hear it_. He could hear Smaug’s voice in his head, though he knew not from which dark crevice of his mind it came. ‘ _Thorin_ ’ it hissed. ‘ _Last of his line, devoid of kin, black and bitter, alone in the dark of a mountain tomb.’_

Thorin saw how easily it could have happened. Fili, dragged from sight by the largest of the Wargs. Kili, white, bloodied, and motionless. His own heart clawing its way out his throat, where it met with the ice cold blade, intent on carving the life out of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, last king under the mountain.

Thorin shook. He jaw clenched.

The lightest of touches, like a moth in the evening’s light, did not startle his heart as it settled on his arm.

He looked, and saw Daenerys. Her eyes were fixed on her dragon, so large and filled with light. She trembled, and her skin seemed to shine. Her hand rested delicately upon his arm for a few moments, before she let go, and began to cross the scorched grass to her child.

Thorin could not have stopped her if he had all the dwarves that ever were and ever would be at his right hand.

He saw now, the power that she wielded, as she crossed to the deadly behemoth, which, at her approach, begun to stirr. Thorin wanted to shut his eyes, but would not allow the queen out of his sight for even the most brief of moments.

‘Now there’s a sight as will keep me pondering the mysteries of this world even as I go to my tomb,’ muttered Balin, by his side once more. ‘Such a great beast, brought low like a worm, under the touch of this wee girl.’

‘Not a girl,’ Thorin growled, barely perceptible to even his own ears. He watched as the dragon remained motionless while Daenerys kept her hand upon one scaly leg. Her white blonde hair blended almost perfectly with the creamy hide of the dragon by which she stood; if one were to take in the scene but briefly, she would be missed entirely.

Daenerys returned after a few moments. Thorin watched the dragon over her shoulder as she approached, and noticed that there were no lights in Dale that night.

Evidently Dwalin was having similar thoughts. ‘The people of Dale fear an attack,’ he muttered in a low, suspicious voice. ‘And our brothers have not yet returned.’

‘Go to them, at first light,’ ordered Thorin. ‘And tell them they may treat with us, as the elves intend to.’

‘Aye, Thorin. But how do you propose we get them round the beast?’

Thorin had been wondering that himself. ‘Perhaps we can ask her to move him – it?’

Daenerys was within earshot now. ‘Yes, I can make him move,’ she said calmly, reaching their huddle. She looked down at them, and appeared far more composed now. ‘Viserion is sated – we took food and drink at a small island, perhaps a day before we sighted these shores. I have impressed upon him my will that he remain in this area, and not to fly away. If you have villages or livestock in the surrounding areas, they should be safe. However,’ she said, looking especially at Thorin, ‘he grows restless. He will be much more apt to remain calm and manageable were he allowed to walk around, perhaps stretch his wings?’

Thorin briefly considered this, and decided that the hassle Dale would cause was worth avoiding the alternative she hinted at.

‘I will send Dwalin at first light to inform the people of Dale that this creature is not a threat.’

‘They’ll no more believe that than they will you’ve turned into an elf overnight,’ grumbled Dwalin, his expression dark. Thorin ignored him.

‘Viserion can get … rather vocal, when alone,’ Daenerys hedged. ‘He dislikes the silence, and gets lonely.’ She gazed back at Viserion. ‘I have half a mind to send him back.’

Thorin’s heart leapt, and he was instantly disgusted with himself.

‘But surely you do not intend to stay here forever?’ Then he winced at how that sounded.

Daenerys smiled. ‘No, my lord Thorin. Much as I am enjoying your hospitality, I have a throne to reclaim. But I could send him back with a letter for my bloodriders and steward of my throne to read, and instruct Viserion to return. Already the others will be becoming aware that I am not there. They may set out in search of me if I do not return Viserion to them.’

Thorin did not like the sound of that.

‘You must do what you feel is best, my lady,’ Thorin said. He was caught between wanting to get back inside the mountain, and being loathe to turn his back on such a threat for the second time today.

They reentered Erebor by the same hidden passage of Kili’s, who was looking significantly less pleased with himself after seeing the dragon again, in a quieter moment than they had before. All the dwarves were quiet and uneasy as they walked through the tunnels; quite a contrast to Daenerys, who was positively bubbling. She left Thorin’s side and skipped ahead to catch up to Fili and Kili; Thorin did his best not to hear their talk, for he felt quite ill.

‘Are you all right, my lord,’ asked Balin in a low voice. He was walking slower than usual, though Thorin knew it was nothing to do with his advanced age.

He could hide behind his pride and the expectations of others when dealing with most dwarves, but Balin had raised him, as he’d raised Fili and Kili. Thrain had been an absent father for the most part, and it was Balin’s voice he heard in his head when he remembered the stories of the great battles and victories of the dwarven kings of old. He could not lie to this, his oldest of friends.

‘There is a weight upon my heart,’ he said quietly. ‘I do not fear her, but I fear the power that she wields. I fear what will happen if we do not make an alliance - or if we do.’ Yes, this was true. He’d been shaping these thoughts in his head ever since he’d heard Daenerys speak.

‘You doubt her good intentions?’ Balin asked, frowning.

Thorin shook his head. ‘I do not. She is good and honourable, I believe, and she would be a powerful ally. What I fear, Balin, is that she will ask us to leave our homes once again. And if we sail across the sea, as none but the elves have ever done before, I know in my heart we shall never see Erebor again. The line of Durin will end.’


	6. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany spends time with Fili and Kili, and learns more about them through accidental observation than she would have through any kind of conversation. Fun with elvish alcohol ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamless fluff. I so very much enjoyed writing this, because brot3. A number of you were begging for Dany/Fili/Kili playful banter, so I've obliged
> 
> Also I quote ASOIAF here, and make reference to Tolkien's dwarf histories, so a little disclaimer: details provided about the histories of Westeros and Middle Earth are not mine, nor do I claim credit for the characters or events mentioned. Quote marked with a *

Daenerys was feeling slightly buoyant after making the decision to send Viserion back to Westeros. She could feel how lonely the dragon was through the low vibrations in his body; he was agitated at the thought of leaving her, but he yearned to be back amongst his siblings. Daenerys could deny him that no longer, and it would give her much more time here in Middle Earth. Dany sensed that the dwarves – and whatever other races resided here – would be far more apt to receive her graciously if she were not threatening to bring their civilizations to ruin.

Once back in the main hall, Thorin bid her a stiff goodnight, to which Dany barely had time to reply, before stalking off, accompanied by Balin and Dwalin, who were speaking to each other in rapid, hushed dwarvish. She was worried she’d committed some sort of social slight, but the somber looks on Fili and Kili’s faces as they gazed after her uncle suggested otherwise.

‘Is he alright?’ she asked, quietly, unsure if she was allowed.

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Fili, somewhat distractedly. ‘’Tisn’t your fault, m’lady. Thorin has a lot on his mind already.’

Dany sensed this was only part of the truth, but didn’t dare press the young dwarf.

‘We’ll show you to your chambers,’ said Kili, quietly, indicating that she should follow. Spirits somewhat dampened, she began to follow the dwarves, who walked close together, the elder often stealing quick glances at the younger, as though concerned.

Dany’s anxieties were soon forgotten, however, as they made their way deeper into Erebor. The home the dwarves had built for themselves was nothing short of jaw dropping on average. She was forced to stop many times, completely overwhelmed by the incredible depth and massive space she found herself walking through. She felt like a mouse between Drogon's claws.

She was fascinated by the intricate carvings on the walls, and by the sheer flawlessness of the stone pillars. If she craned her head all the way back and squinted, she could just barely see the roof of the entire structure. She leaned back, in danger of toppling over backwards, trying to see everything. Every time she righted herself, she’d catch sight of some other marvel of stone engineering, and stumble over herself in her eagerness to examine it. Walkways, turrets, and bridges adorned the otherwise empty space above, and everywhere was the rumble and groan of hot metal and cracking stone. It was either the most elegant forge ever constructed, or the coldest and grandest of palaces, Dany couldn’t make up her mind. Regardless of intent, Thorin ruled over nothing short of a kingdom, housed entirely within a mountain; the perfect defense.

Though not, she thought uneasily, against dragons. Smaug must have been a terrible beast indeed to tear such works down around him. He may have been able to converse with the dwarves, but he was not so sentient as to realize that the true treasures of Erebor lay in the mountain kingdom itself, not the treasury.

She thought then of the dismay the dwarves must have felt, to have such wonders crumble around them. She felt she was beginning to understand the dwarves a little better.

Snapping herself out of her reverie, she looked around, and noticed that Fili and Kili were further ahead than she’d thought. They were looking back at her, and she held up a hand to indicate she’d be a moment longer. Fili appeared to shrug, and they retreated to a further distance, appearing to converse. Dany, despite her vague thoughts about getting lost, drifted from their view.

She began to wander further in, running her hands over the feet of great dwarven statues she discovered, lining a long hallway lit with bright, white light, that appeared to come from everywhere. The statues were fierce things, carved from white stone; scowling bearded men-like folk, many times the size of normal life, brandishing axes and swords. Some stood regal, majestic, with rough crowns upon their brows. Dany realized that she must be looking upon a history of Thorin’s ancestors. She wandered down the long row of them, attempting to read the names, but they were written in letters that appeared to be made up of short straight lines in various patterns, like little trees bare of their leaves. She obviously could not make out a single word, but the clear lines and simple carving seemed to suit what she already knew of the race of dwarves.

Towards the top of the hall, she became aware of hushed whispers coming from somewhere to her left. Upon examination, she realized that the wall, which the statues fronted, was in actual fact just another series of pillars, set to fill in the large gaps between each statue. Beyond was the hall where she had left Fili and Kili.

She didn’t actually mean to eavesdrop, but her curiosity got the better of her. ‘ _What if they’re not as friendly as you think?’_ whispered Viserys’ voice inside her head. ‘ _Gods know you’ve gotten it wrong before_ ’. Images of Mirri Maz Duur flickered, unwanted, through her mind. She took a tiny step forward.

The alcove beyond was dark and secluded from both the outer hall and the hall of statues, buried between two pillars. Dany could only just make out the forms of the young dwarves because she was positioned just behind on of the statues, in a tight angle that would not admit a stout dwarf, but allowed for an underfed Khaleesi.

The heirs of Durin stood close together, shrouded in shadow. Fili, the elder, held his brother’s face gently between his hands, and was slowly stroking Kili’s cheekbone with his thumb. A faint ray of light from the hall caught the tenderness on Fili’s face as he looked upon his brother, so exquisite it caused Dany’s heart to shiver.

Kili had his hands placed lightly on his brother’s hips. As she watched, he half-dragged Fili’s lower body towards his, in a gesture that looked both playful and comforting. Kili tilted his face up a little, so he was looking into his brother’s eyes. Fili’s hands moved back through Kili’s dark hair, pulling gently, until one rested on the back of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. Kili breathed out, a tiny, shuddering breath that indicated such an intense longing and familiarity that Dany felt so very intrusive, and then he very slowly brushed his lips across Fili’s, barely touching. Fili shuddered at this barest of contacts, and opened his mouth ever so slightly, capturing Kili’s in the smallest, most sensual of kisses. Their bodies fit together, their legs and hips each a match for the other. They were as one, holding their kiss, motionless, appearing to savor the bare simplicity of this one moment of perfect intimacy.

Dany stepped back, as quietly as she could. She had not witnessed such displays of affection before, and certainly not between two men. The concept of such familiarity between siblings was not new to her, but such contact between men was. She did not quite know what to make of it, and she felt rather shaken as she crept back up the row of statues.

Their love – for she knew it was such – had been so strong, so very tangible, that it had left her rather breathless. She’d only felt such feelings before when she’d been entwined, naked, with Khal Drogo, and felt the life they created together stir in her womb. That was familial, as well as sexual love, that she'd felt – for she had desired to feel Drogo inside her as strongly as she’d desired to hold their child to her heart. Her arms ached for them both, always, but in very different ways. Was it possible that this dwarven society was so socially and intellectually evolved that they had discovered a way to combine this kind of love?

She thought of Viserys, and scowled. He had held no such love for her, only raw, shameless desire. That was not what she had witnessed back there between the young princes.

She leant against one of the last pillars, and felt the stone cool the flush on her skin. No, the intimacy between Fili and Kili was not what was bothering her. Their secretive ways, and hidden touches and gestures throughout her time with them suggested a privacy that stemmed from more than just good manners. Perhaps, then, such behaviour was _not_ the norm in Erebor. She felt an unexpected dismay tug at her heart. How could such love be forbidden? Surely that kind of mature, sensuous passion was enough to warm even the coldest of stone hearts.

It was not for her to judge. She peered around the pillar, and, seeing no one, exclaimed ‘Oh!’ in a loud, startled voice.

Fili and Kili appeared within moments, suitably flustered.

‘My lady?’ they coursed, rushing towards her. Dany pretended not to notice anything amiss.

‘Oh … ah, this hall! It’s beautiful. I wonder, could you tell me the names of the great kings who reside here?’

Kili dutifully obliged, and escorted her formally through the hall, telling her the names of each king and noble dwarf present. In some instances he named their swords, and axes, and listed the great deeds each had done in battle. There were over thirty statues, but it was only when he came to the last two that Dany pricked up her ears.

‘Thror?’ she repeated, gazing up at the heavily bearded dwarf, who was bedecked in great stone finery, with intricate knots in his beard and hair.

‘Aye. You remember that one, my lady,’ Kili smiled, his eyes sparkling at her.

Dany nodded, turning back and gazing up at the hard, stone expression depicted there. ‘My lord Thorin’s grandfather,’ she said, softly.

Kili nodded. ‘The last king under the mountain, before Thorin. That’s his son, Thrain.’ He indicated the next statue down, and Dany was startled by the resemblance to Thorin. This dwarf was bulkier, with fiercer eyes and a fuller beard. But the set of the mouth and the shape of the nose was quite familiar to her.

She smiled. ‘Were they close? Thorin and his father, I mean.’

Kili hesitated.

‘No.’ Fili was the one to answer her. They both turned to look at him. The blonde dwarf was staring up at the effigy of Thrain with a hard look upon his face.

Dany was surprised. ‘Were you acquainted with my lord Thorin’s father?’

Fili nodded. ‘I was, barely. I was but a lad of eight or nine when the dragon came. Kili was not yet born. But I remember Thrain as he was before, and after.’ Fili shook his head slightly. ‘He had not much time for fatherly duties. Thror’s mind was riddled with gold-sickness; he raved, and constantly counted his treasure. Thrain was a king without a crown until Smaug attacked.’ Fili’s expression softened. ‘As Thorin was, for many years.’

Dany looked down at her hands. Such histories lay behind these statues. She felt humbled.

There were a few moments of respectful silence. ‘There is no statue for the king,’ Dany remarked, looking at the empty plinth next to Thrain.

Kili laughed. ‘There is, actually. It’s just not here yet. Such statues are constructed gradually throughout a dwarf’s life, in case should he die unexpectedly. Fili has one too.'

Fili laughed. 'It's just my feet, at present. My beard is not yet full enough to be considered worthy of remembrance.'

'It's important that the effigy captures the dwarf at their prime of life, so Fili has quite a few years to go yet,' said Kili. 'I think it was Nain I who said that no dwarf wanted their eternal likeness to be that of a corpse near death.’

‘That was _Thrain_ I, you rabbit,’ said Fili dryly. ‘Nain I was the one who said he had no use for wives, and then hacked three of their heads off.’

‘Ah yes, good old Nain,’ chuckled Kili, looking up at Thror again. ‘Good job they weeded that particular strain of lunacy out of the family.’

Fili laughed softly, but Dany frowned.

‘There was madness in the line of Durin?’

Both brothers hesitated this time. ‘Only a little,’ amended Fili. ‘I assure you, we’re perfectly sane, if that’s what’s worrying you, my lady.’

Dany shook her head. ‘I was just thinking of my own heritage. The races of men in Westeros have a saying; “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin, and every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”’* She trailed off, thinking once again of her brother. ‘You’ll find it runs quite true. My father, Aerys II Targaryen, was known as the mad king, and committed the most dreadful, unspeakable acts of cruelty, on mere whims. My brother was quite demented in his own right, I saw that for myself … but it was hard, learning of these family traits once I returned to Westeros. Thankfully, the madness seems to have passed over me.’ Though Dany often wondered if it really had, or was this but a respite.

Fili and Kili looked extremely interested in this information. ‘And I thought we were the only family who had to lock up the grandfather when guests came knocking,’ muttered Fili dryly. Kili burst out laughing, looking delightedly at his brother. Dany began to understand some of Fili’s humour, and saw that it wasn’t often he made an open joke. Dany felt warmed by the looks that passed between the two of them.

‘Yes, we do have some strange similarities,’ she agreed, smiling. ‘I wonder, how similar … for instance, it was customary among my own family to marry sibling with sibling, though this was not as common in the other races, who sought to gain marriage alliances with other families. My own ancestors, down to my father, however, felt it necessary to keep the bloodlines clean. Ironically, the maesters say it was probably this tradition of inter-breeding that spawned the madness.’ She eyed the two dwaves, who were conspicuously silent now. ‘Does anything similar exist in your own culture?’

Neither said a word. Dany realised she’d made them very uncomfortable, and suddenly felt awful, like they would think she was mocking them. She desperately arranged her face into as sympathetic an expression as possible.

‘My lords, I meant no offence,’ she said quietly, trying to appear contrite. ‘I only meant that, while it is not something I would strictly be used to, there are all manner of unusual and unorthodox customs where I come from, particularly when it comes to marriage alliances, and it would not be for me to presume to apply any of the same traditions here, where I am but a foreigner.’ She paused, and then smiled a little. ‘I told you it was tradition within the Targaryen family to marry brother to sister. But my elder brother, Rhaegar, fell in love with another woman, Lyanna Stark. They ran away together, though he was married to, and had two children by, Princess Elia of Dorne, and though Lyanna was promised to another man. To Robert Baratheon, the usurper. He rose the North, and killed my brother on the banks of the Trident in revenge for this slight and supposed kidnapping. Rhaegar risked his throne, his life, his entire kingdom, for a woman he was forbidden to have. Sometimes love does not make sense, and it’s _nobody’s_ fault.’

Fili and Kili looked suitably affected by her words, and stared at the ground. Dany placed a hand on each, gently gripping their forearms. They looked at her in some surprise.

‘No man or woman has the right nor power to alter the course of that kind of love,’ she said firmly. Two pairs of eyes, one golden, one rich brown, widened at her words, and then softened. Dany felt a remarkable bond with these dwarves. Their ways and cultures were vastly different to anything she was familiar with. But matters of the heart, she supposed, were the same no matter what part of this great world you visited. Looking at Fili and Kili, her own heart ached for the love she had lost. But seeing such love reflected in the eyes of these two young princes, she felt that the world was not such a dark place after all.

 

 ***

 

Her words put Fili and Kili into lighter spirits, and she soon found herself standing in her chambers, lavishly decorated with pelts and tapestries, watching Kili mix some sort of concoction in a pewter goblet that looked far too much like flames for Dany’s liking. Fili had darted off to get ‘the rest of it’, and Dany was now wondering what she’d gotten herself into.

‘Now I know it’s late, my lady,’ said Kili mischievously, adding another piece of something, ‘but perhaps a nightcap might be more efficient at sending you off to sleep than any sleeping draught our medicines could supply.’

Dany grinned despite herself. ‘Kili, that looks like fire,’ she said frankly.

They both laughed at the apprehension in her voice. ‘No, it’s not fire,’ Kili assured her.

‘Close enough so that you won’t bother with distinctions when you taste it, though,’ said Fili, who was backing into the room carrying a bronze tray covered in all manner of pots and wooden bowls and a tall, clear glass filled with water and corked with an elaborate design of melted red wax.

He set the tray down on Dany’s spacious dresser, and arranged three small glasses beside the water. ‘This,’ he said, lifting a small candle to the cork, ‘is an alcohol given to us by the elves last time we passed through the Greenwood.’

‘Well, we use the word "given" rather loosely,’ amended Kili, who was holding the goblet close to his face and inhaling tentatively through his nose.

‘No, well, we owed them an injury and were feeling pretty charitable. Blasted elves are damn near impossible to trick, but we got away with one or two rarer items they won’t be replacing for a while.’ Fili winked at her as he began to melt the wax off the glass bottle. The glass was so beautifully crafted from such a clear material that Dany scarcely believed there way anything in there, until the wax began to dribble down the sides, and a sharp, unusual smell reached her nose. She sniffed, intrigued.

‘You _have_ tried this before, haven’t you?’ she asked doubtfully as Fili carefully hefted the glass. It looked quite full to her, now that the cork was removed.

‘This is not our first bottle,’ Fili said, smirking. ‘But, just to be sure …’ he lifted the bottle to his lips, and took three swallows of the liquid, which began to fizz slightly upon contact with his mouth. The smell was stronger now, and Dany wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, but judging by the expression on Fili’s face, she definitely wanted to find out.

‘Well?’ asked Kili, sounding amused, as he stirred the fire-liquid.

‘Ahhh,’ said Fili, scrunching up his nose briefly, looking like he'd been scalded. ‘I forgot what a bite this bitch has. No offense, my lady,’ he added, glancing at her.

Dany grinned. ‘No offence taken. But what is the red mixture for?’

Kili laughed, and Fili rolled his eyes. ‘Kili claims to have no taste buds, and needs his food to be strongly seasoned for him to taste anything at all. I blame it on the icicle he was stupid enough to get his tongue stuck to when he was a lad, though not so young a one as he’d have you believe.’

Kili stuck out said tongue at his brother, his dark eyes twinkling magnificently. He had such a delightful smile; Dany could appreciate with ease the warmth Fili felt for him.

‘It’s made from fire-flowers, my lady,’ Kili explained, approaching with the goblet. Dany noticed he wore gloves to handle the goblet. 'They have a wonderful flavour, if you have the strength for it.'

‘Is it hot?’ she asked, interested.

‘No, not yet,’ he said, setting the goblet down on the table. Dany could feel an incredible heat coming from it, warming her face as she leaned over it.

‘I can feel it!’ she exclaimed. She’d never seen any kind of drink like it.

‘Aye, it’ll heat up the cup after a while. That’s why I used pewter. Made the mistake of putting it in a gold chalice the first time round. Turned out it was an heirloom of Thrain I. I said I was sure old Thrain would have liked the drink, but Balin was more concerned about the puddle of gold I left on the floor in the kitchens.’

Dany snorted with delight. The vapours from both the fire drink and the clear liquid were filling her head, making her giddy.

‘Let’s try it,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘Do you mix them together?’

‘Yes, in small measures,’ said Fili, who had poured out three half glasses of the clear liquid.

‘It appears to be nothing more than water,’ she remarked, fascinated. ‘But the bubbles?’

‘A kind of gas,’ answered Fili. ‘Some elvish trick, I don’t know how they do it.’

‘And they’d never tell us,’ snorted Kili. ‘Bastards.’

‘I’m intrigued by these elves you speak of,’ said Dany, watching Fili take the gloves from his brother. He interrupted Kili in the act of taking them off, pulling them gently from his brother’s hands, fingers casually stroking the backs of his hands. Dany pretended to be examining the fire drink again.

‘Aye,’ said Kili, a moment later, as though nothing had happened. ‘They’re a beautiful race, but cold and sly, and possessive of their secrets, of which they have countless.’

‘You may yet get to meet them, depending on Thorin’s mood,’ said Fili, slipping on the gloves and taking up the goblet. Despite the stone, it was glowing a gentle red, and Fili winced slightly as he lifted it.

‘Shall I get the thicker gloves?’ Kili asked, watching his brother’s face.

‘No, these will do, for now’ said Fili, frowning in concentration as he let three drops fall from the goblet into each glass. Dany jumped as the result created a bright white spark on the surface of each liquid; it flared up with a hiss, like a tiny explosion, and then settled back down. When the smoke had cleared, the liquid in each glass had turned a rich, incredible gold colour. Dany’s eyes widened.

‘How …’ she breathed, fascinated. It looked so light and precious.

‘Pretty, isn’t it,’ smiled Kili, watching her expression. ‘You wouldn’t believe how long it took us to get that right.’

‘Melted through the glass and the table the first time,’ remarked Fili, setting the goblet carefully down again, pushing it back towards the wall. Dany eyed it warily this time.

‘I cannot believe this is safe to drink,’ Dany commented bluntly, but she took up the glass closest to her nonetheless. She put her eye close to it; it was warm in her hands, though not hot. The liquid was pure, for she could not find a trace of the bubbles, or of the fire coloured mixture.

‘Oh, it is,’ replied Kili, as the brothers took up their own glasses. ‘And as you can imagine, it has quite a kick.’

‘Are you sure she’s up to it, brother?’ teased Fili, glancing at Dany out of the corner of his eye. ‘I saw how she favoured the leafier side of the feast earlier. Perhaps her taste buds are not so steely as your own.’

Dany scowled at them, but grinned despite herself. ‘I’ll have you know I have a _very_ refined palate. Some of the spices I ate in Meereen would curl the hairs on your beards. Though perhaps not your own, Master Kili, being at present rather too short for such a reaction.’ She smiled slyly from behind her glass.

Fili burst into laughter, and Dany felt a flutter of pleasure at provoking such a reaction. Kili grinned at Dany.

‘Well, she may not look all that threatening, but she sure has the fire of a dragon, does she not brother,’ he said, his eyes dancing wickedly.

Dany laughed at the appropriateness of his words. ‘They say the fire of dragons runs in my veins, my lords,’ she said, lifting the glass to her lips. ‘Let us find out if such fire may quench that made by man - or dwarf.’ She dropped a mock curtsy to the greatly amused dwarves, who bowed low in return. They tipped their glasses together in salute, and drank as one.

And as Dany tipped the liquid down her throat, the heat burning all the way through her, right to the tips of her hair, she felt the dragon inside her spread its wings and roar excitedly to meet the challenge.


	7. Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex, and a small amount of plot development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be a hobbit fic without Fili/Kili smut, I'm sorry if this is out of place but I couldn't help myself lol  
> This was just to move it along, big stuff coming next  
> (I could have called this chapter something else)

Dany’s dreams were filled with fire that night. But she was not afraid, for it shrouded her in power and warmth, and she felt strong. She slept wrapped in a pile of furs, on a bed bigger than any she’d slept on before, even in King’s Landing. This would surprise her when she woke up in the morning, but her brain had been heavy with alcohol when Fili had carried her to the bed that she hadn’t registered much.

They’d spent hours drinking and swapping stories, their laughter getting louder and longer the more they drank. Dany enjoyed herself immensely in the company of the Fili and Kili, but she began to notice, despite her intoxication, the looks of longing and lingering touches between the young princes. Kili in particular had to get up and walk around for a little bit, claiming that he would tip over sideways if he remained seated, but Dany sensed it was to fight off the increasing sexual tension that was growing between the two. She herself was feeling more than a little aroused, and wished she had Darius, or one of her handmaidens to attend her.

She satisfied herself by drinking even more of the mixture, until the dwarves’ hands were too unsteady to make any more of it. Once her body felt sufficiently deadened, she announced, to the best of her abilities, that a dragon conqueror needed her rest – and, she thought to herself, some of us need a comfort more rigorous than rest. She hoped she didn’t say that aloud.

‘Sleep well, m’lady,’ murmured Fili, as he deposited her on the bed as though she weighed nothing. ‘’M sure we shall see you ‘i th’ morrow.’

Kili was already at the entrance to her chambers, which stood open, fidgeting impatiently, though he was leaning against the doorframe for support. Dany’s eyes remained open long enough to see Fili cross the room hurriedly and grab his brother by the neck of his tunic and pull him in for a brief but passionate kiss. The broke apart, breathing heavily, and then Kili grabbed Fili’s arm, almost pulling him off his feet in his haste to leave.

The door slammed, and all was silent. Dany watched the room spin in the half-light, and wondered briefly how Thorin slept, before drifting off into a deep sleep filled with great stone pillars wreathed in fire, and mysterious, pale-faced people called elves.

 

**** 

 

Fili had thought that if he’d kept drinking the fire drink, he’d deaden his senses and stop wanting to jump his brother every time Kili moved or spoke. Instead, it seemed to only heighten his desire, and he was tempted to slip a little extra into Daenerys’ drink to knock her out so he could jump his bones without having to run through half of Erebor first.

But drugging the guests probably wasn’t a good idea, and Dany was a sweet drunk. She told them incredible stories about her _khalasar_ , and about her struggles through the desert after the death of her husband. She told them about her family, and what she had learned of them from the records in the place she held court, King's Landing. She expressed a desire to hear more of their own travels, and of their quest to reclaim Erebor, but Kili assured her that she wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

Finally, she gave up the ghost, holding out for an impressive amount of time against the fire drink. Kili had passed out long before she did his first time. Luckily, Fili began to notice the signs and persuaded her towards bed. He was rather unsteady on his feet too, but the sight of his flushed, fidgeting brother standing at the door, his tunic unlaced just a tad at the front, revealing his collarbone and the smallest bit of chest hair, went straight to Fili’s head, and then to his cock; he rushed out of there before he could embarrass himself, straight into Kili’s arms.

Erebor was silent but for their hasty footsteps and heavy breathing. Dwarves liked their sleep, and a fair amount of alcohol had certainly been consumed that night. Most would be in a slumber the like of which could rival the kings in the tombs. Fili was glad of this, because Kili liked to get loud, and Fili was more than happy to oblige him in that pursuit.

He was also fervently grateful for Kili’s quick thinking when they were rebuilding the mountain kingdom after they’d removed Smaug. The dragon had done a lot of damage to the bottom structures, thus weakening the upper levels. The old royal quarters were destroyed, and Kili had quickly suggested separating them all out, in case they were ever attacked. Best not to keep the heirs and the king all in one place, he’d pointed out. Thorin had looked suspicious, but Balin had thought this an excellent idea. Fili had seen how the long, slow recoveries of Thorin, Kili, and himself after the Battle of the Five Armies had added years of grey to the already aged dwarf.  

So Kili’s room was now in roughly the centre of Erebor, far from Thorin’s, which was dead left and underground, and a million miles away from Fili’s, which was about as far back as the mountain went. It took Fili a solid 45 minutes to travel to his room from Kili’s unless he took one of the rail carts, and they made too much noise to run at night. But they rarely slept apart, especially these days. Erebor was so big that there was rarely so much traffic that they couldn’t sneak out of each other’s rooms and go about their business before anyone noticed one of their beds hadn’t been slept in.

Still, it was a tough ten-minute sprint from Daenerys’ room in the guest quarters. When they reached the bottom of the marble tower in which Kili dwelt, they paused for a moment to get their breath back. Running like that after drinking so much would have killed them in the past, particularly Fili, whose ribs and lungs hadn’t been quite right since that Warg had got him between its teeth and pulled him off a rocky overhang. But, not surprisingly, this wasn’t their first time pulling something like this.

Kili straightened up from his crouch and rubbed his brother’s back.

‘Getting old, Fi,’ he grinned, but there was a small amount of concern in his voice.

Fili rolled his eyes and pulled one of Kili’s braids gently. ‘Oh don’t worry,’ he smirked, his hand slipping down to his neck. ‘You’ll be begging for rest before I’m even warmed up.’

Kili’s dark eyes danced delightedly, and he smiled that special smile that Fili felt was just for him. ‘Ah, you’re all talk.’

Fili pulled him in and they kissed, heat flaring between the two of them. Fili pulled gently on his brother’s lip and breathed into his mouth. ‘Get. Upstairs.’

Kili didn’t need to be told twice. He spun around and bounded up the stairs, Fili right behind him, heart pounding. Kili never failed to excite him.

The steps were padded with pelts, muffling their footsteps. Kili’s apartment was built into one of the central pillars of Erebor, and was very spacious, and cluttered with all the insane carvings and sculptures that Kili liked to produce when he was drunk. Balin would complain that they could never get him to produce anything halfway decent sober, and he’d only willingly pick up the hammer when he was inebriated and feeling frisky.

Fili liked his odd carvings. Kili didn’t so much set a trend as veer wildly away from anything resembling a trend.

He caught him at the top of the staircase. He got one hand around his ankle, and Kili yelped and grabbed hold of the side of the archway. A heavy Warg pelt hung over the entrance, and Kili swiped it aside as he tried to drag himself in. Fili grabbed his thigh, and then his waist as he climbed to his level. They fell through the curtain together and landed in a heap on the stone floor, both scrambling to pin the other. Fili kind of let him win, enjoying the feeling of Kili’s thighs straddling his waist. They were wearing only thin tunics and leggings, as they’d dressed for dinner. Kili ran his hands over Fili’s chest and Fili arched into his touch, squeezing his thighs with his hands.

Kili grinned, and stretched himself out luxuriously over the full length of his brother, angling their bodies together so they could feel every hard muscle and brush of skin. Fili and Kili were like an oddly shaped stone that had cracked in half – if you placed the two jagged edges together, they fit perfectly, regardless of how different each half looked. As brothers went, Fili had to admit there was not much of a resemblance between the two of them. He nosed Kili’s cheek and shivered pleasantly as Kili rubbed his chest, letting his hands trail down his sides and scrape gently at the sliver of exposed skin just above his waistline.

Their eyes were different colours; that was an obvious difference. Fili had memorized the exact shade of Kili’s eyes, had gazed into them a thousand times, and still found himself lost, every time.

He loved the way their hair mingled on the pillow. Sometimes, when Kili was exhausted and spent, lying draped over his brother, Fili would press their foreheads together and let their hair fall around them. He was so pale, and perfect. Fili would lay their arms side by side and marvel at how two beings so physically different could be so similar in all of the most important ways.

Somehow they made it to the bed, tripping over each other legs and grabbing at each other’s arms. Every touch seared through the alcohol-induced haze and burned hotter than any fire brew.

Fili pulled him down, and their lips melted together, seamless, effortless. Kili locked their fingers together and pinned him, stretching their arms out. Their hands were the same size. Fili gripped him tightly and wrapped his legs around Kili’s. Heat filled his abdomen; he could never remember getting hard when he was with Fili – it was almost a permanent state when they were alone together, especially after a long day of public appearance.

Fili remained stretched out as Kili made his way down his body, trailing his hands along his chest and lifting up his shirt to kiss his belly. Fili groaned at the contact, and couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough. Kili pulled at Fili’s leggings with his teeh, and Fili raised himself up slightly so he could see Kili’s mouth lifting up the rim and dragged the leggings down easily.

The movements made his chin scrape over Fili’s cock. His fists tightened around the blankets.

He was naked now, and Kili remained sinfully clothed. He wanted to leap up and rip every single scrap off him, but he knew where Kili was going now. He watched, lazily, as Kili lifted his own shirt off, and reached down to stroke himself through his clothes. Fili bit his lip as he saw Kili’s expression go slack, his eyes closing. The bastard was torturing him.

Fili groaned in frustration. Kili grinned and winked open one eye. ‘Knew you’d cave,’ he muttered, dropping to his knees and pulling Fili forward to the edge of the bed. Fili twitched backwards in shock as Kili’s hot, wet mouth closed over the top of his cock, and he let out a startled cry of surprise. One of Kili’s hands rested on his bare thigh, the other was creeping closer to his balls. Fili struggled to keep his breathing even as Kili’s skilled mouth took more of his cock, his tongue swirling patterns into the underside – he was probably writing his name again. So many flicks.

Fili allowed himself to moan, knowing how it drove Kili wild when he heard the affect he was having. His head ducked up and down as he made his way down to the base, before drawing back up and licking the tip, teasing him so impossibly that Fili struggled not to buck his hips in search of more contact.

He sat up. ‘What the _fuck_ are you doing to me,’ he panted, looking down at his brother. Kili only looked up at him with huge, rounded eyes. His lips were pink and damp, and Fili wanted to fuck him, so badly. Holding eye contact as best he could, Kili suddenly took the entire length of him in one go. The feeling of his lips sliding the whole way down, touching the back of his brother’s throat, hearing the click of his gag reflex being suppressed, was nearly enough to push Fili over the edge. He thrust, just a little – it was impossible not to - and was unable to resist putting his hands in Kili’s hair, twisting and tugging. The little noises coming from Kili as he took all of Fili’s cock were driving him insane, and his mouth fell open in a breathless pant. His tongue was everywhere; Fili’s balls tightened.

But Kili was already releasing him. Fili was rock hard and trembling, and the sight of Kili kneeling before him, breathing heavily, after having his cock in his throat, just _did_ things to him. He stood up, pulling Kili with him. They leaned in for the kiss they both craved. Fili loved tasting himself on his brother’s soft lips. He bit and pulled at them, making them red and swollen, and getting Kili completely riled up. He was trembling with suppressed lust and energy, his mind almost completely clear. The fire went straight to his blood, heating him up. Their cocks slid around each other almost painfully, and Fili accidentally bit down on Kili’s bottom lip; a bead of blood welled up, which Kili licked away, locking their eyes together. Fili gripped his waist and bit hot kisses into his brother’s neck, making him moan and shake. Kili’s main erogenous zone was his neck; he turned into a squirming, shameless wreck whenever Fili started on him.

Fili turned him around, and pushed him down on to the bed so he was lying on his stomach. Kili quickly got himself up on his elbows, and Fili put a hand under his chin as he lay over him, sucking kisses into his neck and collarbone. He could feel Kili’s groans vibrating under his hand as he kissed his shoulder. He moved slowly back up, feeling his brother shake beneath him, and licked at his ear. He saw Kili’s hands tighten on the bed sheets, and used his other hand to pull Kili’s head back roughly by his hair. He twisted around slightly, and met Fili’s mouth, teeth clacking together in their haste.

Fili let him go, and grinned as his brother squirmed uncontrollably as he made his way down to slowly slide his leggings off. As they slipped over his bum, Fili transferred the material to his mouth, and let his teeth scrape very slightly over the soft, sensitive skin, as soft as his lips. He pinned his legs, as he knew he’d try to kick in frustration, and smiled as he felt him twitch beneath him.

He tossed the leggings, and moved himself up until he was straddling the backs of Kili’s thighs. Even though he knew it would drive both of them mad, he let himself slide his length torturously slowly over Kili’s buttocks, slipping into the crack only to slide right back out, coating him in precome. Kili slipped down and buried his face in the material; Fili pushed a little deeper, and heard him moan loudly into the bed sheets. It sounded like he had them between his teeth. Fili chuckled throatily.

He leaned down and gently spread Kili’s legs wider, suppressing laughter when he wriggled and scooted to get them as wide as he could, sensing Fili’s intent. The sight of his beautiful brother, spread out and aching for him, was one of the hottest images he could ever imagine.

He slowly began to tease at Kili’s entrance, loosening up the taut muscles. He was so close to just pushing in, but his desire not to hurt his brother was just strong enough for him to fight that urge. Usually they rolled around for hours, kissing and stroking each other, finding each other’s sensitive spots and pushing them relentlessly, until they both unraveled and ended up fucking on the ground like animals. But they were too sloppy and drunk tonight to give each other that kind of attention, and Fili knew he couldn’t resist the sweet heat his brother was offering him for long.

He heard his brother’s breathing increase as he tongued his rim, and he cautiously slipped a finger in, allowing the muscles to stretch and adjust. He loved seeing Kili like this, taking him so willingly. Sometimes he would play with his ass all night, just to see how long it took him to make Kili come without even touching his cock. His hand twitched often towards his own cock, and he made himself stop by slipping a hand under Kili’s slim hips and grabbing his leaking dick, stroking it occasionally. Kili writhed with pleasure as he slipped another finger in, leaning over to kiss his spine.

He lost his restraint a little earlier than he probably should have, but Kili had twisted around slightly and met his eyes with his own, full of lust and shameless desire, and Fili was gone. He gripped Kili tightly, and kept their eyes on each other as Fili lined himself up, and pushed himself slowly all the way in. The spasm of pain was replaced by an expression of pure erotic pleasure on Kili’s face as Fili filled him up, his mouth half open and his eyes fluttering shut. A long, low moan escaped him, trailing as Fili played, sliding slowly out and teasing his hole. But he cried out for real this time when Fili slammed back into him, all teasing aside. Fili tried his best to keep a rhythm so he wouldn’t come too soon, but it got significantly harder – oh _god_ – when Kili arched his back like a cat and pushed back into Fili. The impossibly arousing grind of their bodies together was like feeding an open flame; the slap of their skin as Fili thrust into his brother filled the room and Kili was making these small, breathy grunts that knotted his abdomen and made every inch of his body tighten with anticipation.

Fili paused, with the greatest of difficulty, and pushed Kili up higher on the bed, climbing up after him. Kili got on his hands and knees, and stroked his cock, desperately trying to get off. Fili caught his hand and dragged it away, biting at the wrist.

‘Nuh uh, love,’ he murmured against his skin, pressing a kiss on his palm before pinning his hands back. ‘Not until I say so.’

‘Oh, you’re such a bastard,’ Kili gasped, face pressed into the bed as Fili lined himself up again.

This time there was no stopping to chat. Kili gave every inch of himself to his brother, who held his hands behind his back and fucked him until they were both sweating and gasping each other’s names. Fili released his hands and grabbed his hips, digging his fingers in as he watched Kili throw his head back as he touched himself. They were both stretched taut as wires, and Fili’s hands slipped all over Kili’s body as he bent over him and pressed their hot skin together, thrusting into him. The pressure of his orgasm was building, rising up like a wave and seizing his muscles, until it broke inside of him and he almost blackout out. His legs shook and he threw his head back, voice breaking as he cried out in pleasure. His hands clutched desperately at Kili’s skin, who was panting beneath him, and he blindly reached underneath and jerked Kili off for the few seconds that it took him to shake and collapse with him.

Every single muscle in him was unraveling and he was spiraling into blissful unconsciousness as their limbs gave way. They fell to the mattress together, Fili still buried inside his brother, their bodies automatically rearranging themselves to fit around each other. Kili wrapped Fili’s arm around him, and clumsily kissed his wrist.

‘Not … bad,’ he mumbled, arching his back right into Fili’s chest. Fili smiled and lifted his head slightly to graze his lips against Kili’s ear, the way he knew he liked.

‘Go to sleep,’ he breathed, before tucking his head into the back of Kili’s neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex and wonderful familiarity. Kili’s hair tickled his nose, and he tightened his grip protectively around his waist just before sinking into a deep, fucked-out sleep.

 

****

 

The following morning found Thorin and a host of edgy dwarves with their hands on their weapons standing at the gates of Erebor, watching Daenyers stand in the bright sunshine with her hand on Viserion’s claw, whispering to him words that were lost to them on the breeze.

Thorin was glad beyond words that Daenerys had decided to send her dragon back. She apparently trusted them enough to remain with them without her protection, or a way home. Though she assured him that she’d risen early to write a long series of letters to her steward, explaining the situation, and when she should like to be retrieved.

‘And are you sure you wish to put your trust in the people of Middle Earth?’ he asked her, as they had walked to the gates of Erebor. Daenerys looked flushed and tired, though her hair was shining and perfectly combed.

She’d smiled at him, and glanced at the bound scrolls she carried. ‘Ser Barristan is a very honourable man, my lord. He reminds me of you. He understands my need for peace in my kingdom, and will trust my word when I say that I am safe here.’ She’d looked him in the eye as she’d said this, and he met her gaze steadily. ‘Though I would not want to outstay my welcome.’

Thorin smiled tightly. ‘You are welcome, my lady, for as long as you wish. It is our honour and our duty.’

Though, in truth, Thorin worried about how this duty might be put to the test.

The sky was a clear blue, with no clouds, and they were able to watch Viserion fly, long after he took off; he flew straight towards the horizon, then veered to the left as though he could smell the sea – which, Thorin reflected, he probably could.

The grass rippled in the breeze, calming after Viserion’s explosive take off. The great beast had loosed a billowing plume of fire as he’d gained altitude, and the air smelled of smoke and charred meat, the remains of Viserion’s breakfast. As Thorin gazed at the spot where the dragon was rapidly disappearing, he felt a great sense of relief, as though a load had been partly lifted from his shoulders. The little queen could not surely expect to demand so much from them now. Though, he had to remind himself, she had yet to ask for anything. He didn’t even know what she wanted. The fact that she had flown here on the back of a dragon, rather than sailing with a fleet of ships, showed that she had no real immediate plans to commandeer his armies. At least, not yet.

Fili and Kili stood on either side of him, also tracking the flight of the dragon, similar looks of relief on their faces. They appeared to be as tired as Daenerys, and Thorin wondered had they begun their host duties last night. All three had bright spots of heat on their cheeks, like the after effects of a sunstroke; Thorin recognized the signs. Kili’s damn fire drink, he was sure.

It didn’t bother him overly. But his nephews tended to lose certain inhibitions when they were drinking, which is why they didn’t overly consume at banquets or in public, and if they were forced to, they often snuck off early. Thorin knew these signs well too.

Daenerys was walking back to them, and Thorin watched her briefly arranging her features to a more neutral look, but he’d seen the sorrow on her face. He frowned.

‘She truly considers them her children,’ he muttered, to no one in particular.

‘Blood of the dragon,’ Kili replied unthinkingly, and Fili elbowed him.

Thorin looked at him swiftly. ‘What do you mean, Kili?’ he asked.

Kili looked shifty. ‘I only mean that … well she told us many stories last night. It seems like there’s a really old, powerful magic running through her veins. That’s no ordinary dragon – it can’t talk, not really – but she can still communicate with it, right?’ Kili glanced at Daenerys, who was nearer to them now. ‘She’s … unusual.’

Thorin thought that was about right, and made a mental note to corner his nephews later and squeeze them for details about their foreign dignitary. Or maybe he should just get drunk with her himself. He sure could use the distraction.

‘Thorin!’

Fili’s startled shout echoed through the quiet glade. Everyone looked at Fili, who was staring up at the neighbouring cliff, eyes wide. Thorin followed his gaze, and shivered as an all-too familiar horn sounded from the mountainside. A few yards away, Daenerys flinched at the noise, and whirled around, hair swirling about her in the wind.

A host of Elves, greater than Thorin had ever seen before in his life, had come up upon them from behind the mountain. They appeared to be in full battle gear, and carried at least three different standards. Why didn’t the sentinels see them, he thought furiously, glaring at a figure he was positive was Thranduil; he could sense the creature’s disdain even from here.

A second horn rang out, and the hair on Thorin’s skin stood up; this one was less familiar to the dwarves at large, but he remembered it well from his time in Rivendell. Which meant –

‘Lord Elrond,’ he growled, unhappily. He turned to the dwarves. ‘Fili, Kili. Take Daenerys inside, to her chambers. Wait with her there. Dwalin!’ he barked, and the dwarf sprang to his side. Daenerys had reached them now; she did not look frightened, but wary.

‘Thorin, if I am the cause of this unease, I wish to answer for it.’

‘The threat is gone, my lady. I will deal with this,’ Thorin replied tightly.

Daenerys frowned. ‘I would like to speak to these people. They interest me greatly.’

Thorin glanced at the party of elves, who were now making their way around the mountain to the front gate. Beacons were being lit in Dale. He gritted his teeth.

‘Perhaps later, my lady,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘Right now, I am afraid we have few rather angry and self-important Elf lords at our door that I must attend to, and your presence would greatly complicate matters.’ He hoped that his tone appeared as respectful as it did forceful. Daenerys did not appear to take offence, but glanced back at the elves again, rather longingly. Thorin suddenly understood. Though many appeared to hail from Rivendell, many more were from the woods of Lothlórien; beautiful, haughty, silver-haired folk. They bore a striking resemblance to Daenerys.

Trying not to think about that, he gestured quickly to Fili and Kili, who hurried Dany indoors. The rumbling of hooves echoed through the valley now, and Thorin saw the gates of Dale opening.

‘Oh, for the love of …’ Thorin couldn’t speak, furious. He whirled around.

‘Dwarves of Erebor, prepare yourselves!’ he roared, and the small company sprung into action. All were battalion commanders, and they rushed under the mountain, bellowing commands and clanking bells. Thorin stood with Balin and Dwalin, Nori and Ori standing close by, staring at the advancing party, before retreating too under the mountain.

 


	8. Foreign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany meets the elves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quote directly from The Lord of the Rings and A Song of Ice and Fire here - Elrond's words in Elvish are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and Daenery's reply in Dothraki is the property of George R. R. Martin
> 
> I apologise for the sketchy adherence to capital letters - Elves, elves, Elf, elf, I can never remember  
> Translations and references at the end!  
> Thanks for sticking with me palz

Dany was rapidly becoming aware of how accustomed she was to power, and to having her own way in general. The sheer force of will it took her to bow to Thorin’s commands and accompany the tense young dwarves to her chambers was impressive even for her. It was more frustrating because she was certain that the Elves would want to speak to her, and she positively _ached_ to converse with creatures who bore such startling resemblances to her family.

She sat as still as she could in a low chair, spine straight, staring into the mirror, examining her face. Would they think she looked like them? She hadn’t been close enough to see the colour of their eyes or the shape of their faces. She curled her hair delicately behind her ears and smoothed her finger along the tips, dismally round.

‘They’re not human, my lady,’ said Fili quietly, from his position by the doorway. The princes looked as anxious as she felt. No doubt they were not used to babysitting duty.

Daenerys frowned at him in the mirror. ‘I know that,’ she said, trying not to sound irritable. ‘You forget that I’m in a foreign land, Fili. I’m curious about everything, especially beings who can scare Thorin so.’

‘Thorin wasn’t scared,’ said Kili tightly, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dany raised an eyebrow. ‘No? He called his men to arms.’

‘Past experience,’ said Fili. ‘Elves can be treacherous.’

‘I thought they were your allies?’

‘When it suits them.’

Dany pondered this. It seems the politics of Middle Earth were almost as mired as those of the Seven Kingdoms.

The mountain was bustling. They could hear sounds of agitated dwarves, and what Kili called ‘stress-forging’; the dwarves often turned to angry mining and forging of weapons when they had Elves as guests. Something about the strange creatures raised their blood pressure.

‘There’ll be an abundance of new swords and helms by tomorrow morning,’ said Kili gloomily. ‘We’ll just have to melt them all down again, they’re such a waste.’

Dany smiled despite herself.

‘Tell me about the Elves,’ she said, turning in her seat to face them, drumming her fingers on the armrest. ‘I am sure Thorin will grant me a meeting with them.’

Fili sighed. ‘Thranduil will insist on it, I’m sure.’

Dany frowned. ‘Are you scared of them?’

Kili bristled. ‘We’re not afraid of Elves, my lady,’ he said scornfully. ‘But they’ve done us few favours in the past.’

‘They’re the old guardians of Middle Earth,’ Fili explained, tiredly. ‘They’re just concerned. Once Thorin explains that Dany means no harm, they’ll leave. Hopefully.’

Despite the situation, Daenerys felt a jolt of surprise as Fili unconsciously picked up her old nickname, given to her by her brother. She had not heard it in a very long time. 

‘Elrond might want to study her or something,’ muttered Kili.

‘She’s human,’ argued Fili. ‘Once he gets a proper look at her …’ He trailed off, and Dany felt the fluttering of nerves in her stomach.

‘Thorin is king here,’ she said, slightly anxious now. ‘They must obey him, surely?’

Fili looked uncomfortable. ‘Doesn’t really work like that, my lady.’

Dany tried to get more out of them, but both had clammed up worryingly.

The noise under the mountain got louder.

After a while, there was a sudden loud knocking on the door. Dany stood up and made to move towards it, but Fili was already there. He slipped out before Dany could see who it was, and she ground her teeth in frustration.

She stood angrily beside the bed while Kili hopped about just inside the door, until Fili reentered a few minutes later. He looked pensive.

‘It’s getting a bit heated down there,’ he murmured to Kili, who was searching his brother’s face anxiously. ‘Thorin sent Bofur to get us.’

‘What about Daenerys?’ Kili asked, looking intently at his brother.

Fili looked at her, and Kili followed his gaze. Dany tilted her chin.

‘They wish to see you, my lady,’ Fili said softly.

 

**** 

 

Their hurried journey through the moutain was accompanied by an armed guard; six dwarves clutching axes and growling at everything.

‘They’re become quite protective of you, my lady,’ said Kili as they practically jogged down another stone hall.

‘Should I be flattered?’ Dany asked, trying to keep up; dwarves could certainly move when the occasion called for it.

Kili barked a laugh. ‘I would be. They don’t usually take to anything that isn’t hewn from rock.’

‘Aye, and the fact that this will stick in Thranduil’s teeth isn’t a bad wee bonus,’ remarked one of the guards, winking at her. ‘Bofur, at your service, m’lady. Big fan’

‘And I at yours,’ replied Dany, a little thrown, but pleased that there were more than two dwarves who were willing to stand by her. She was concerned that she didn’t know if she could count on Thorin to add to that number yet.  

Loud voices were echoing from the chamber at the end of the hallway. The guard halted several meters before it, and Dany craned her neck around Thorin to look at the Elves standing outside the door. She saw one of them dart inside – probably to announce her arrival – before Fili grabbed her attention.

‘Ok, protocol. Ah – ok. It’ll probably look best if you already know who they are, like Thorin’s informed you.’

‘Should he have?’ asked Dany, frowning.

‘He was getting to it,’ muttered Kili, eyeing the Elven guard watchfully.

‘Lord Elrond is the lord of Rivendell - ’

‘Beautiful place, you’d love it,’ commented Bofur. ‘Lots of harps and flutes though, not my taste.’

‘Thank you Bofur,’ snapped Fili. ‘He has dark hair and frowns. He’s actually kind of nice once you get to know him.’

‘Yeah, but he won’t be nice right now, with Thranduil stirring,’ Kili said darkly. ‘Elrond is diplomatic, but diplomacy will get you nowhere when Thorin and Thranduil butt heads.’

‘Tell me about Thranduil,’ Dany said quickly.                

‘He’ll be the fair-haired Elf.’

‘Aren’t they all fair-haired, or mostly?’

‘He’ll be the one wearing the crown that looks like an elk and a thorn bush had an argument and both lost,’ said Bofur cheerfully.

‘Right,’ said Dany, a little uncertainly, looking back at Fili.

‘He’s right. Thranduil looks different from Elrond. More . . . "other". Technically I suppose you outrank them, but that’s your terms rather than ours. My advice? If Thorin announces you, let him. But once he does, make your introductions before they do. More assertive.’

Dany nodded, but felt quietly confident now. They were dignitaries. She’d dealt with far worse. And she was among friends here; _they_ were the intruders.

They approached now with Dany in front, Fili and Kili flanking her tightly, only a step behind her. Bofur and another, oddly tall dwarf followed on their heels, and the rest in a tight huddle behind them. She felt a bit exposed as they neared the Elves at the door, but she rolled her shoulders and shook it off. She’d dealt with the Thirteen in Qarth, taken Meereen, won the loyalty of the Unsullied, and crushed the Lannister and Dornish resistance in Westeros. She’d faced down Cersei Lannister and Stannis Baratheon, and sent them away to lick their wounds. She was Daenerys Stormborn and she would not be intimidated.

The silver-haired Elves eyed her as she approached. Their faces were unreadable, but Dany made sure to look both guards in the eye.

‘Linuriél,’ said Fili, by way of greeting. The dark-haired elf on the right bowed his head slightly. He wore a thin circlet of silver around his brow.

‘Well met, Fili, son of Dís,’ he replied, softly.

Dany didn’t think it was well met at all. She frowned at Fili’s thinly veiled hostility.

‘Are we to be admitted?’ he asked in clipped tones. Dany didn’t fail to notice Kili’s silence throughout, and remembered that while the young dwarves were referred to as their heirs of Durin in Erebor, Fili had superiority.

The elf turned to Dany, eyes flitting over her curiously as he towered above her. He had the clearest skin and greenest eyes that Dany had ever seen. Up close, she could see that they were as unlike her own race as the dwarves were; more so, because while the dwarves were half height and bearded, they at least possessed human blemishes. This elf was perfect, devastatingly so.

‘This is the so-called mother of dragons?’ he asked, in a voice like music.

Dany kept her expression neutral. ‘I am.’ Her voice was steady.

Linuriél nodded, and bowed. ‘It is good to have met you.’ Without the expected preamble, he and the other elf pushed the enormous doors open without so much as a flicker of strain or effort on their flawless faces. Dany took a slow, deep breath, totally unsure of what she was walking in to, but walked into it anyways.

The atmosphere she entered into was tense to say the least. This could only be the official throne room; to her surprise, it was designed much like the hall of the Iron Throne in King’s Landing. A large, airy chamber, torches set high on the walls, with a roughly hewn balcony overlooking on both sides. The hall went deep on either side, and the ceiling dropped, flanking the room with shadow. As Dany glanced to her left and right, she sensed the eyes of dozens of dwarves, hidden in the dark recesses of the room, probably armed to the teeth and tapping their fingers anxiously on the hilts of their weapons.

The air in the chamber was stuffy, and close, but Dany attributed that to the Elves who were gathered, motionless, before the throne. There were perhaps two dozen of them, both fair and dark, and in seemingly equal proportions. They turned in eerie unison at the sound of the doors opening. Dany tried to avoid the eyes she felt settling on her, and looked instead at Thorin, who sat as tall as a dwarf could, on his roughly hewn throne.

It was an impressive seat, Dany could see that, and cleverly constructed so that Thorin did not appear dwarfed by the size of it (Dany silently thanked the gods that she’d never accidentally used that verb out loud). It was crafted from a stone so dark it looked black, and the bottom part behind Thorin’s legs looked twisted and gnarled, like the roots of an old tree. Or a mountain, Dany realized, marveling at the craftsmanship. A stone tree to seat the king under the mountain.

Thorin’s expression was as black as his throne. Dwalin and Balin stood at his right and left, looking displeased. Upon seeing her, Thorin stood. There was a swift movement from the front of the crowd of Elves as two previously seated figures rose with him. Dany barely caught the shift in atmosphere, but it was there. Kili’s hand twitched towards the bow strung over his back. Dany was surprised at the amount of weapons in the room, given the supposed civil relations between the two species.

_Species_ , she thought, in wonder. They’re not just different families or races. They’re as different from each other as I am to the dwarves. She had a brief moment where she felt very small.

Then Thorin’s deep, gravelly voice announced her, as Fili had predicted.

‘My lords,’ he growled, his voice sounding tired, ‘this is Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm of Westeros. She is the mother of dragons, and a friend to the Dwarves of Erebor.’ He paused, and Daenerys met his gaze. ‘She is a Khaleesi, a queen of the Dothraki, and you will address her as such.’

Daenerys was momentarily stunned that Thorin had caught the significance of that title – she’d translated it only once for him, if her memory served her – but she suddenly felt her old sense of power and gritty determination return to her. She _was_ a Khaleesi, wife of the greatest Khal who’d ever lived.

Two Elves moved gracefully to the front of the crowd, who parted almost imperceptibly, as one.

Daenerys was ready for them. She walked forward to meet them, and stopped when she was about ten feet from them. She turned first to the dark haired one, who looked like an exceptionally handsome man approaching his fortieth summer, but infinitely fairer. He had a very perceptible, solid strength in his bearing, and smile lines around his mouth, despite the sternness of his expression.

‘My Lord Elrond,’ she said, touching her hand to her breast and bowing her head slightly, but not taking her eyes off him.

Elrond raised his eyebrows, but dipped his own head in return, extending his arm so it was almost a bow. ‘Khaleesi,’ he rumbled.

Daenerys now turned to the silver-haired Elven lord, whose sharper features and bright eyes made her think of a young man built by old, cross men, who’d seen much injustice.

‘My Lord Thranduil,’ she said, making the same bow as she had Elrond.

There was a sticky pause, when Dany straightened up. 'Good grief, she does look like them!' Dany was not sure where that voice came from, but she was distracted by Thranduil's intense stare. They locked eyes, Dany thought she saw in that moment a history that stretched thousands of years into the past, and would continue long after her grandchildren were dead. In Thranduil’s eyes she saw infinity, and the endless stretch of time was cold and dark. She dropped her gaze in some confusion.

After what seemed like far too long, Thranduil mimicked Elrond’s bow, though his did not seem quite so respectful. ‘Khaleesi,’ he said, tilting the end of the word to make it sound like a question.

There was a moment of silence, and then Elrond spoke.

‘You gave us all a scare, Khaleesi, when you arrived. Middle Earth is somewhat sensitive to dragon attacks.’ There was no humour in his voice, but Dany sensed his benevolence.

She did not attempt a smile. ‘I apologise, my lord, if I gave reason for fear. I was in a unique position of being able to traverse a long distance in a short space of time, and preferred to fly rather than risk the journey by sea.’

Elrond looked pensive. ‘I’m afraid we were . . . _are_ . . . more concerned with the possibility of others following by your example.’

This time Daenerys did smile. She had not even thought of that.

‘I assure you, my lords, that there is no possibility of anyone following me. I am the only one who can control my dragons. They are the only surviving ones in the whole of Westeros and Essos, or anywhere else for that matter. Their breed was believed destroyed at the end of my father’s reign. I believed it too, until I was gifted these three eggs, supposedly dormant and never to hatch, on my wedding day.’

Both Elves looked very interested at her words, but after catching a look from Thorin, Dany realized that now was not the time for her history.

‘If my lords would like to retire to a more private chamber, I am sure we could discuss in more detail - ’

‘I think not,’ interrupted Thranduil. There was a quite murmur around the hall that Thorin appeared to silence just by twitching his hand towards his sword. Thankfully none of the elves caught his movement.

‘I hope you do not consider me a threat,’ said Dany, calmly

‘Not at all,’ replied Thranduil. ‘I only meant that there cannot be anything you should have to say that need not be heard by all present.’

‘Indeed,’ answered Dany, icily. She didn’t like his tone.

‘Thorin Oakenshield has judged her honest,’ said Elrond idly, still staring at Daenerys with mild fascination. ‘The Lady Galadriel saw no threat on the horizon, only great promise. There is no need for hostilities, Thranduil.’

Daenerys took heart. ‘I do not wish to remain long in Middle Earth,’ she said. ‘I shall leave within fourteen days, depending on . . . events back home.’

‘You have spoken with your people?’ queried Elrond, looking interested.

‘I sent communication with my dragon upon his departure, yes,’ Daenerys replied, grasping at the familiarity in his tone.

‘Yet there is hesitation in your words,’ remarked Thranduil, calmly sweeping nonexistent dust from his exquisite jade green robes.

‘As I said,’ Daenerys replied, ‘only I can control my dragons. I do not know how long it will take before one returns to me. But I can assure you, they will return to me.’

‘And what if they _all_ return?’ asked Thranduil. Daenerys sensed that this was what the discussion had been building up to. ‘And what if they decide to return after you’ve gone? How much control do you really have over them?’

‘She is not called the mother of dragons for nothing, Thranduil,’ snapped Thorin. Daenerys looked up, startled at his tone.

Thranduil’s expression twitched in annoyance. ‘So she can speak with them?’

‘The beast remained outside for a day and a night and did not so much as glance at the herds of Dale,’ retorted Thorin. ‘I’d call that possessing a certain level of command, wouldn’t you?’

‘I would not know, for I was _not there_ ,’ Thranduil replied delicately, and Daenerys heard a sigh of frustration echo around the hall like a breeze.

‘Durin’s beard,’ breathed Thorin, running a hand over his face. ‘I did not think it _necessary_ to send word, believing the dragon's tumultuous arrival and Dale’s panicked runners to the Greenwood sufficient notice, as I have said many times, Lord Thranduil.’

‘Indeed, we felt the shock waves in Imladris,’ said Elrond. ‘Such a distance could not have been covered by a dwarf runner before relevance was lost. The dragon is gone.’

‘Nevertheless, the courtesy was owed us - ’

‘You will not preach about courtesy in these halls!’ Thorin stood up from his seat. Thranduil spun, his hair shining like a blade in the torchlight. Around her, the sound of blades sliding halfway from their sheaths kicked her heartbeat up a few notches.

‘I will not argue this point again!’ snapped Thranduil. Elrond looked irritated, but did not move.

Dany stepped forward, ignoring the warning sounds Fili and Kili made.

‘We have not forgotten,’ hissed Thorin. Dany was taken aback at the sudden loss of his cool demeanor.

‘The battle would have been lost without our help - ’

‘The battle need never have _happened_ but for _your help!’_ Thorin stepped forward, and Elrond frowned.

‘My lord, this is _not_ the issue at hand,’ he snapped, moving to stand beside Thranduil, though his posture indicated more of a warning than support to the elf. ‘We have more pressing concerns.’

‘Then it is me you should be speaking to’ Dany said loudly, getting their attention.

Thranduil turned slowly to face her. His face had lost some of its composure, but he still looked on her with disdain.

Daenerys was tired of being ignored. ‘I am a ruler, and a conqueror,’ she said, angrily. ‘I have put whole cities to the sword and laid waste to the land of Essos, before I crossed the seas and slaughtered the families who opposed me! I took back the lands they stole from my father, and I lit such a fire in the land of Westeros that the smoke choked the sun for weeks and smothered all the crops. And any enemy that dared to crawl from the ashes suffered the same fate as my brother and his children when the usurpers rose up and slew the last of my family. I am not a girl. I was born amidst a storm of sorrows, brought on by the ruin of the Targaryens. I am a Khaleesi, and you will show me the respect that I have shown you.’

Thranduil considered her, in the screaming silence that followed. Dany thought she saw a flicker of interest brighten his eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

‘Should your dragons return we will shoot them down,’ he said, coldly. ‘And you will leave. A world that entrusts such infinite power as a dragon to a child, let alone the power to rule a kingdom, is alien to us. Our paths were not meant to cross, Daenerys Targaryen. And you would do well to return to your barbarian land and fight your bloody war of politics and petty familial cruelties. There is evil in Middle Earth you could not bear to suffer thoughts of in your darkest nightmares without losing every trace of your sanity.’

‘You do not frighten me,’ Daenerys snapped, staring him down determinedly, though her hands shook.

‘I do not intend to,’ Thranduil replied, already looking impassive once more. ‘I only mean to ensure that Thorin Oakenshield does not intend to harbor anymore warlords from distant lands and allow their dragons to sleep on the lawn.’

‘I did nothing of the sort!’ exclaimed Thorin, rising rapidly to his feet once more, and the room erupted. The Elves closed ranks and glared down at the dwarves, who were drawing in around them and gesticulating angrily. Weapons were not yet drawn, but Dany sensed that was only seconds away. Thranduil was approaching the foot of the steps to the throne, speaking rapidly at Thorin, whose expression darkened with every word. The noise in the room was frightful, and Fili and Kili were looking desperately at each other, torn between running to their uncle’s aid, and protecting Dany.

Daenerys looked to Elrond, and saw him rub his hand tiredly over his forehead, as though every word of their argument was one he’d heard a thousand times before.

Before anyone could stop her, she’d darted over to the elf lord. He looked down at her in some surprise.

‘My lord,’ she said, anxiously.

‘Khaleesi,’ he replied, curiously colouring his voice.

‘My lord, I seek no help from the people of Middle Earth in fighting the resistance to my rule,’ she said, speaking rapidly. ‘I have not been a guest here long, but I have grown to respect Thorin Oakenshield and his kin, and have learnt much of their history, though but a little of yours. I ask only for the chance to learn from him, and from you, in the short time left to me here. Then I will return home, and you shall never again hear the name Westeros.’

Elrond frowned. Daenerys had struggled to speak over the din, and still make herself heard, but when Elrond spoke, it sounded to her like a sound meant only for her ears, despite being quite audible.

‘There is much difference between our worlds, is there not?’

Dany nodded vigorously. ‘I would not have them touch. The taint of Westeros is like poison. Here I have witnessed beauty and acceptance, and thousands of years dedicated to craftsmanship and art and honour. I have heard the names of races of men and elves and dwarves, creatures I never imagined to exist. Such coexistence is a marvel. I rule but scarcely over a race of men that displays such brutality and cruelty that sometimes I wonder how kindness could ever exist. Just knowing that tolerance and real integrity can be found, so far from home . . . It gives me hope.’

Elrond looked a little impressed at her speech, while Dany wondered had she just given him an excuse to wage war on Westeros. It wasn’t like they didn’t deserve it. Despite her words, she was beginning to wonder how she would look upon the political nightmare she’d left behind and feel any hope for a diplomatic solution. Wholesale slaughter was more likely.

‘You wish to learn from him,’ Elrond said, sounding slightly amused. Dany followed his gaze, and felt her heart sink as she witness Thorin and Thranduil snarling at each other like dogs. The elf’s beauty was twisted now, and Thorin appeared more beast than dwarf.

‘I do,’ she said, trying to sound convincing. _I did_ , she thought, sadly.

Elrond appeared to ponder her request, and Daenerys could not help but admire every inch of him. He appeared wholly unshaken by the riotous events around him – there seemed to be a circle of calm surrounding him, an infinite serenity that could not be pierced. This must be what the dwarves had meant when they’d spoken of the majesty of the Elves.

‘Very well,’ he said quietly, and then raised his voice. ‘Thranduil.’

Though there was no inflection in his voice, no anger or urgency, suddenly every elf in the room was silent, prompting a similar response from the dwarves, and all eyes turned to Elrond. Dany shivered, momentarily awestruck.

‘Daenerys Targaryen and her kin pose no threat to us,’ Elrond said calmly to the silent room. ‘She wishes to learn from our example. She has admitted to me that she admires our society and ways of ruling, and would like to experience our cultures.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Though from this _display_ , I wonder should she even bother.’

Thranduil acted as though Thorin and he had merely been having a quiet conversation over iced tea.

‘Then we shall leave,’ he said, flicking his wrist towards his golden-haired elven retinue, who appeared to ready themselves. ‘I shall expect you at the Greenwood in three days at the earliest, Khaleesi. Learning the history of a race that has existed peacefully for millennia is not something that can be fully appreciated in so short a length of time, but I suggest you start anywhere but here. Elrond’s house is further west, but we shall provide swifter mounts than any you shall find here – if any.’ Dany bristled at the implication, and tried not to look at Throin.

‘And from there you may journey to the realm of men,’ said Elrond, drawing her attention. ‘The lands of Rohan and Gondor boast a proud lineage of men who would be honoured to meet a foreign queen.’

‘I assume the Lady Galadriel will want to see you in Lothlorién,’ Thranduil remarked as he moved with his elves towards the front of the hall without so much as a glance back at Thorin.

‘She will journey to Imladris, I am sure,’ said Elrond. ‘Forgive me Khaleesi, but the lady of the wood is a cautious elf, and will not allow strangers into her realm.’

‘I understand,’ said Dany, though she was far from comprehension.

‘I must take my leave now,’ said Elrond, beckoning to his dark-haired elves, who had not exited with Thranduil. Dany was still reeling from the sheer rudeness of the fair elves, and did not hear him immediately.

‘L-leave?’ she repeated. ‘Oh, yes, forgive me. My Lord, you’ve been so kind, and helpful, how can I ever - ’

‘Allow me to receive you in my own house of Rivendell,’ he said, smiling slightly at her. Dany basked in the warmth of his gaze, appreciating it after the frost of Thranduil’s attentions. ‘You would be my honoured guest. I am sure we have much to learn from each other.’

‘My warmest thanks,’ Daenerys replied, pressing her fist to her heart, and bowing her head, this time closing her eyes and holding the bow longer.

When she looked up again, Elrond was smiling. To her surprise, he placed his own hand on his breast, and said in a magical, lilting accent, ‘Namárie, ar nai aistale Eldar hilya le. Eleni sílar antalyanna.’

Dany felt incredibly humbled by this. ‘Yer chomoe anna, chomak Elrond,’ she said. And then, ‘The Dothraki do not have a word for “thank you”, but . . . San athchomari yerea.’ She smiled. ‘We will meet again.’

As Elrond started to leave, however, an indignant voice piped up from somewhere in the back of the hall. ‘What, leaving again without a bit of lunch in our bellies? Not even a quick chat amongst old friends? The hospitality of dwarves certainly hasn’t changed a bit, no not one bit!’

Elrond sighed as the dwarves around Dany suddenly looked up, expressions of disbelief and excitement on their faces.

‘I believe you should be much happier remaining here for a night or two, Master Baggins,’ rumbled Elrond, looking somewhat amused, despite himself. ‘I am sure a debt of hospitality is owed to you.’

‘Bilbo!’ exclaimed Kili, composure utterly gone from his face, which had lit up in a way Daenerys had never seen it before. It transformed him; as indeed all the other dwarves appeared to be transformed at the arrival of this Baggins.

As Elrond quietly made his escape before anything else could stop him, Thorin was turning around in some confusion on the steps.

‘How in the name of Durin did you get back there?’ he demanded glaring at what Daenerys initially thought with some confusion was the throne, but then noticed someone standing there, who she had not seen before. He was smaller even than the dwarves, and had a mop of brown curls and a guilty yet determined expression. She felt a smile creep across her face before she could help it.

‘Ah don’t believe it,’ grumbled Dwalin, catching sight of the little man and rolling his eyes.

The rest of the dwarves did not share his lack of enthusiasm. Fili and Kili bounded up the steps and seized the newcomer in a joint bear hug that Dany feared would kill him. Indeed his face turned quite purple until they put him down and clapped him on the back joyfully. Bofur and the other dwarves of Thorin’s inner circle followed them, delighted with this new arrival.

‘How long was he creeping around back there?’ demanded Thorin indignantly, trying to be heard over the laughing dwarves. 'How could nobody have noticed him?'

‘Oh you know me, Thorin,’ smiled the curious little man from around Bofur’s arm. ‘Always quick and quiet, when I’m needed to be.’

Thorin looked rueful, but a small smile flickered across his face, and Dany caught a knowing look of warmth and familiarity pass between the two, before the boisterous dwarves closed in around the newcomer again.

She approached the foot of the steps somewhat cautiously. Thorin was trying to be angry and pushing the dwarves off the royal platform, but Dany could tell he was more relaxed now.

There was a lull in the conversation as the mellowed dwarves tripped down the stairs. Fili and Kili approached her with the man named Bilbo between them, who blushed as he stood before her and looked down at his feet, which, Dany noticed with surprised, were bare, and disproportionately large and hairy.

‘Another friend of the dwarves,’ she said, smiling at his bashfulness.

He smiled nervously, and attempted an awkward little bow. ‘Bilbo Baggins – ahem – a Hobbit of the Shire, at your service, my - my lady.’

Dany beamed, and surprised them all by holding out the skirts of her dress and dipping low in a formal curtsy, which she’d learned in Meereen. It was usually reserved for young ladies meeting older men of higher standing, but nobody needed to know that.

‘Daenerys Targaryen, at yours,’ she replied, mimicking his solemn tone, and the dwarves burst into laughter and applause at the look of utter amazement and delight on Bilbo’s face at her curtesy. She straightened up, laughing with them, warming already to this shy little creature.

‘Well, Master Baggins,’ she said, ‘I look forward to talking with you at length, for I recognize your name from several stories I’ve heard whilst I’ve been here.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Bilbo, prompting more laughter and cheers from the dwarves.

Dany smiled. ‘But first, I must speak with Lord Thorin.’ She glanced up at the throne as she spoke; Thorin stood there, his expression dark once more, his arms folded. Dany couldn’t decide if he looked defensive or aggressive, but Dwalin was standing beside him and he looked furious, so Dany decided it was a mixture of both.

There was a hush as she stared up at Thorin, which only abated when Thorin nodded reluctantly, and beckoned to her.

‘It was good to have met you, Master Baggins,’ she said quickly, before hurrying after Thorin, a cold feeling in her heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elrond's blessing is from The Lord of the Rings, and is said as a farewell to the Fellowship. I hacked at it to make it singular instead of plural - very roughly translated it says 'Farewell, and may the blessing of the Elves go with you. May the stars shine upon your face!'
> 
> Dany's reply was a little harder. She's supposed to say 'You do honour to me, Lord Elrond [chomak is like a honourific Dothraki apply strictly to foreigners]. Much respect to you' [this is about as close as you can get to 'thank you' in Dothraki].
> 
> Sources:  
> http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/elrond.htm  
> http://dedalvs.com/dothraki/dothrakireno.pdf


	9. Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!

Thorin received her in the same chamber where she’d first been introduced to his inner circle of dwarves. This time, however, the fire was not lit, and there was a distinct air of hostility in the cold stone room. Dwalin accompanied Thorin, but after a few hushed murmurs, he left them, casting a dark look and Dany as he did so, which she did her best to ignore.

There was a very awkward silence after Dwalin slammed the door, and Dany realized that she had no desire to air her thoughts. The room was barely lit, but for two torches by the door. Daenerys shivered, but was glad of her thick dwarf-made wrap-around shawl.

‘Well, my lady,’ Thorin began, his voice sounding strained, ‘you appear dissatisfied.’ His whole posture was defensive; angled away from her as he leant against the huge fireplace, through which a cold wind was blowing. He was not looking at her.

‘You may say that,’ Dany said quietly.

Thorin shrugged in a way that Dany could only describe as insolent. ‘Have we disappointed you? Did you expect better decorum from our people? Have we not lived up to your expectations, is that it – so much so that you felt the need to override and undermine me while I addressed my allies?’

Dany blanched at the colour in his tone, but her hackles rose quickly. ‘If that is how you treat your allies, it’s little wonder they speak to you so!’ she replied, trying not to snap. ‘And I never sought to undermine you, my lord, only to bring the hostilities to an end.’

‘Well, you certainly achieved that better than I ever could,’ Thorin returned bitterly, running a hand over his beard, restlessly. ‘Thranduil will never darken our halls again.’

‘You don’t seem to be too concerned about that,’ she said frostily. This crumbling of relations was of Thorin’s making, not hers, though she felt it would be very unwise to point that out.

‘That is not the point,’ Thorin snapped, and Dany didn’t like the way this conversation was going. ‘I cannot be seen to insult my allies, especially the ones who helped me retake this very mountain!’

‘And am I to be blamed for your unwillingness to receive your guests tolerably?’ she said, instantly regretting her words. She steeled herself for the furious rejoinder that would surely follow; but Thorin did not react as she expected.

‘You cannot deny that you inflamed the situation, my lady!’ exclaimed Thorin.

‘I was summoned,’ spat Dany. ‘Should I have refused to come down? To hide in my room like a frightened child? You _knew_ wanted to see them, I thought - ’

‘I know what you thought,’ said Thorin, suddenly sounding weary beyond words. He appeared to smile, though bitterly. ‘You’re not a dwarf, my lady. You saw their hair, their beauty, and thought you’d discovered kin. I understand. You lost yours … as we lost our home. I understand that kind of pain.’ His gaze hardened again. ‘But now every dwarf under the mountain believes it to be my intention to follow this child-queen across the sea to wage a war we have no stake in!’ His face softened slightly. ‘And they would do it, too. I know they would, if I asked it of them. What kind of a king … what kind of a person would I be, to ask that of them? They’ve been through so much … far too much. I owe them this life.’

Dany felt her heart break slightly for the years of pain etched across Thorin’s majestic face.

‘It is owed to you also, Thorin,’ she said gently. ‘You are a worthy king.’

Thorin looked up, hope flickering in his eyes like a fresh flame.

‘I want to see my nephew live to receive the throne from me,’ he said, passionately, ‘until a son of my own comes of age. I want the dwarves to become strong again in Middle Earth – not cower beneath the elven heel. I have the respect and the trust of my people – am I to repay that by sowing fear and doubt and disturbing their peace with fears of the future?’

Daenerys felt the time had come to finally show her hand. She smiled sadly and crossed the room to where Thorin stood. He seemed a little taken aback by her advance, but stood his ground. His chin tilted up almost stubbornly, and Dany saw now how he’d managed to take back his home when everything in the world had been against him.

She stopped in front of him, and tried to allow her features to soften in a benevolent expression; though benevolence in her negotiations was not a thing she was used to.

‘I am sorry to have caused you such worry,’ she said softly, trying to convey meaning with her eyes as well as her words. Thorin’s eyes burned as he watched her carefully, guardedly.

‘Thorin …  I knew from the moment we first spoke that you would never leave these shores. And it did not take me long to realize that I did not want to ever ask that of you. I admire you and your kin … more than you will ever know. The compassion and intelligence I’ve witnessed in your nephews, and your own tolerance and wisdom – it is both humbling and inspirational, and I am profoundly in your debt for such graces alone.’

This was difficult for Dany; she was wholly unused to giving such praise in sincerity, for all who she truly admired lived to serve her, and would be uncomfortable with such verbal rewards. But she felt the strongest desire to have Thorin know his worth – for both their sakes.

‘I am a woman in all things but years – the one thing I cannot help. I have spent the first and only years of my independence in destitution and desperation, fighting tooth and claw for the smallest gains, riding a wave of fire and steel to achieve even greater heights. Everything I earned, I paid for in blood. I forged alliances with brutes and monsters, political savages, and watching for betrayal at every corner. I cut throats with my right hand and burned cities with my left. I can rally armies and persuade generals to fight for me, and to sack the cities of their birth and slaughter its people – because I know what they _want_. Coin, power, privilege, position …  women, men, freedom. Something denied them.  I understand ambition – it was mother’s milk to my brother and I.’

She paused, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The torchlight flickered over Thorin’s face, casting the corners of his eyes and shadows of his mouth in darkness, but a light burned behind his eyes that spurred Dany on.

‘I do not know what the people of Westeros want,’ she said simply. ‘Or I do, but I don’t know how to give it to them. I have never lived there; what do peace and prosperity mean to them? They have suffered for so long under tyrants, and, to them, I am but another tyrant – a copy of my father, the mad king, returned to subjugate them once again. They have suffered as we have suffered. I only wish to learn from you, Thorin, and those like you. I know how to conquer. I want … I _need_ to learn how to rule. That’s all I want.’

Thorin looked surprised beyond words, and Dany again felt annoyed at his disbelief of his own worth.

‘And then you go and .. and let me _down_ like that!’ she exclaimed. Thorin started at her sudden change in tone; it was almost comical. He looked suitably chastised as Dany raged.

‘I Looked for a leader, and I found someone with a hatchet buried in his back looing to return the favour at whatever cost. You think elves are difficult to deal with? The families of Westeros – the Lannisters, the Martells, the Tyrells – they had hands in killing me entire family and taking my homeland before I was even born. And now I must extend the hand of friendship as they fight me and resist bending them over the axeman’s block and mounting their heads on pikes adorning the walls of King’s Landing!’

‘Such savagery!’ muttered Thorin, eyes narrowed. ‘I did not think your world worked as such.’ He paused, and lowered his gaze. ‘I underestimate you once again, my lady.’

Dany felt slightly abashed with the way he was taking her rant so passively, but she felt so strongly about making him _understand_. She could not stand it if he thought her a tyrant who could not comprehend civility and diplomacy.

‘I would never have our words collide,’ she whispered; the very thought horrified her. The rough beauty of Erebor would be forever poisoned and tainted by the politics and petty, bloody hates of Westeros.

‘There is little beauty left in my world,’ she said, sadly. ‘I would have your world preserved, and secreted away from the touch of evil, forever. In my letters to my right hand, Ser Barristan, I have dictated the truth, but included orders to burn the papers after first perusal. He is to inform those who demand explanation that I discovered a small island, populated by barbarians, which I quickly put to death, before sending Viserion back, in order to spend some time in quiet contemplation, away from the sharp seat of the Iron Throne.’

‘I see,’ Thorin muttered, sounding amused, but his face betrayed no emotion.

‘The people need not know,’ she said. ‘It’s not far from the truth. I must learn how to lead these people, and how to give them what they want … what they need. I must restore the Targaryen to the glory my ancestors achieved. And though I will take advice and example from the elves, and from the race of men …my greatest desire is to learn from you, Thorin Oakenshield.’

Thorin attempted to speak, stopped, cleared his throat and started again.

‘I thank you,’ my lady. ‘And I am sorry to have disappointed you.’ Daenerys tried to interrupt, but he cut across her. ‘I must go now, and see to the dignitaries of Dale.’ He shrugged away from her touch and crossed the room. Dany struggled to regain momentum.

‘My lord, could I perhaps sit in on - ’

‘I think not,’ Thorin replied swiftly, in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘I would not disappoint you again with my improper conduct … _my lady_.’

Dany had to resist the urge to stamp her foot. Thorin left the chamber without another word.

She bit her lip in frustration. The conversation had taken such an abrupt change in direction that she’d been completely unable to get it back, and now he was going off to deal with yet more angry guests and feeling like Daenerys thought him incompetent and incapable. She had not intended to sound patronizing, but, gods forgive her, the man had an ego bigger than the throne room at King’s Landing!

‘Not a man,’ she reminded herself, through gritted teeth. ‘Gods preserve me from the stubbornness of dwarves.’

She sighed into the empty room, twisting the cuff of her sleeve in her hands. When she was alone like this, in a cold room, it was easy to forget that she was a Queen by blood and birth, and not a girl, far from home.

 

 

 

A rough, familiar voice stayed her hand as she was about to open the door to her chambers. She turned, and saw the kind dwarf from earlier jogging towards her.

‘Bofur, at your service,’ he panted when he reached her, bowing slightly.

Dany smiled, despite her mood. ‘I remember. Is everything alright?’

Bofur smiled. ‘Well, we have a very shy guest who you promised to acquaint yourself with, if memory serves me right.’

Realization dawned. ‘Bilbo,’ Dany said, internally kicking herself. ‘You must send him my apologies, Ser Bofur. I am not myself tonight.’

Bofur chuckled. ‘Ah’ve been called many a thing, my lady, but never anything so fine as a _sir_.’ He sounded amused, but concern flickered in his bright eyes. ‘Is it homesickness ye have? Ah know the feeling well, my lady. ‘Twas hard being away from these halls for so long, sleeping rough in the borrowed rooms of others, where we could get them. Nothin’ quite like the comfort of your own bed and hearth, is there?’

Dany paused, his words stirring something within her. ‘I do not know,’ she said softly, eyes drifting to her hand, still on the door, but not seeing it. She thought of the magnificent chambers she tossed and turned in each night in the Red Keep. Her life on the ships had been uncomfortable and cold. Her beds in Astapor and Meereen had been hot, uncomfortable, and she’d seldom slept more than a few hours at a time, being woken so frequently by the heat and noise, and the unfamiliar smells and feel of the fabric beneath her.

And before that? Her mind wandered through her memories of the great plains of Essos on her silver, with Khal Drogo at her side. There had been so little time between her fear of him, and when he died, that she felt that in her whole life, her one time of happiness had been so short that she’d hardly begun to realize her contentment before it had been snatched away from her.

Had that been her home, then? She felt as though she’d been reborn there, for no event in her life before that came close to the importance of those that came after. She’d become a Khaleesi amongst the _khalasar_ , and won their trust.

And now she had nothing but a whole world of people who hated her. Where then, was she supposed to call home?

She realized that Bofur was still standing, somewhat anxiously, at her side.

‘M’lady?’ he questioned softly. He took her hand, gently, and squeezed it. ‘Ah hope ah’m not being too presumptuous … but are you all right, lass?’

Daenerys forced a smile with some difficulty; her mind was still wandering through the grasslands.

‘You are very kind,’ she said, sqeezing his hand back. ‘Forgive me; thoughts of home are difficult. Thorin is … displeased with me.’

Bofur laughed. ‘Aye, he can be tricky,’ he agreed, smiling in a conspiratorial way at her. ‘But he’s just a big softy underneath all the beard.’

Dany marveled. ‘You speak so freely of your king,’ she said, hoping that she did not sound affronted.  

Bofur shrugged. ‘Thorin commands respect from us, easy as breathin’, an’ more than that too. We’ve followed him through hell and back, and every last dwarf in Erebor knows we only _got_ back because Thorin carved stone from the soil and defeated enemies we in our wildest dreams would not have faced. Thorin lived without hope for a long time, and carried on anyways. Ah’ve seen a lot of things, my lady, and most of ‘em not very pleasant, and ah’m sure you’re no stranger to that kind of thing yourself … but ah’ve never a dwarf try harder for his kin than Thorin Oakenshield. An’ every dwarf here knows that, and would follow him right back into hell again, if he asked.’ 

Dany was awestruck by the quiet fervor in Bofur’s voice.

‘I hope you know,’ she began tentatively, ‘that I would never ask it of him.’

Bofur’s expression froze, and then relaxed into an easier smile, that was tinged with quiet relief. ‘I do,’ he said warmly. ‘I do, m’lady.’

 

 

 

Bofur brought her to a large, comfortable lounge area, close to where her room was; Dany suspected it was part of the guest quarters in Erebor, and had to admire that this kind of comfort for visitors even existed, given the fact that Thorin apparently had the hosting abilities of a Khal.

She expected rowdiness, and large quantities of food and drink spilling from every surface, but what she found was quite the opposite. Eleven dwarves were grouped around a scrubbed wooden table, talking in low voices, and appeared to be examining something on the table that Dany could not see. A fire roared in a comfortable hearth on the other side of the room, and a cloud of pipe smoke hovered over the table. The atmosphere was comforting and warm, and it disturbed Dany slightly to realize that she did not immediately recognize it.

It certainly had been a long time since she’d felt at home.

Something was said at the table, and a hearty burst of laughter from the dwarves dispelled her gloomy musings. A half smile tweaked her lips at the sound, and Bofur caught her arm. ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling her towards the table.

Fili and Kili were there, with the little hobbit between them; their faces were animated with laughter and talk, but Fili saw her approaching hesitantly and got to his feet.

‘Oi, come on move yourselves,’ he ordered, waving his hands at the dwarves opposite him. ‘Make a space for the Khaleesi.’

‘Would you like my seat, my lady?’ a round faced, grey bearded dwarf asked anxiously, from the top of the table, half rising.

‘And how will our good burglar hear her from down there?’ demanded Balin, who was sitting opposite Fili and Kili. ‘Here, Khaleesi, sit beside me.’ With a shift and a scoot, he bumped the young dwarf beside him down a few spaces; he rolled off his chair and landed on the floor with a squeak. Dany was concerned, but the dwarves only laughed, and she allowed Bofur to pull back her seat before she sat down

‘Come on Ori,’ said the round-faced dwarf who’d offered her his seat. ‘You can share mine.’

Dany’s eyes travelled from the blinking, ruffled young dwarf being helped to his feet, to the enormously fat dwarf sitting at the far end of the table and puffing on an enormous pipe, to the dwarf who appeared to be deaf, and was squinting across at the sharp faced dwarf with a tin pipe jammed in his ear. The only dwarves Dany noticed as being absent were the surly-faced Dwalin, and, of course, Thorin.

The dwarves were in full swing, reminiscing about battles fought and treasure won. Fili and Kili were in the brightest of moods, and Dany had a feeling it had something to do with the hobbit sitting between them. Bilbo looked completely at ease in the company of dwarves; not relaxed precisely, for she noticed he could not help startling whenever a dwarf got overexcited and pounded his fist on the table, and took liberal drags from his pipe, but he seemed entirely used to their behaviour and mannerisms. Unlike Dany, who sometimes found their accents difficult to decipher, especially when slurred with drink.

‘Not feeling like a drink tonight, my lady?’ Kili winked at her from across the table, indicating her untouched goblet. Dany smiled sheepishly. ‘I am afraid your brew proved to be a match for my own fire,’ she replied, remembering the sweaty heat she’d woken up to, her mouth burning and her bedsheets soaked.

‘You lasted far longer than most do on their first round with the firedrink,’ commented Fili, striking a match and cupping the bowl of his pipe. A whisp of purplish smoke leaked from his mouth, before he hollowed his cheeks and exhaled in a complicated fashion; Dany watched with amazement and delight as the smoke took the shape of a bird, which dipped and twirled before dissipating over Dany’s head.

‘You’ve been practicing,’ murmured Bilbo around his own pipe. ‘But, I think for a Khaleesi, we can do a _little_ better … ‘ His cheeks worked, and from his own mouth came a swirling blue dragon, taking form slowly from the smoke, wings spreading luxuriously. It hovered in the air before them all, an impressive size, before vanishing, but left an impression of itself in the air in tiny sparkling dust motes. Daenerys was fascinated, and clapped enthusiastically along with the other dwarves. Bilbo blushed, but nodded his head humbly, coughing slightly.

‘Puts me to shame, he does,’ laughed Fili, as the applause died down.

‘Still the same old Bilbo,’ smiled Kili. ‘As red as he was after his first sip of the firedrink.’

‘Oh, I thought his face would burst into flames, and we’d have to waste our own grog putting him out,’ chuckled Balin, eyes crinkling.

‘It seems we fared the same, Mister Baggins,’ smiled Daenerys. Bilbo looked up, surprised to be addressed.

‘I hear you did much better than I,’ he stammered.

‘She did,’ agreed Kili, slapping Bilbo on the back, and the dwarves laughed again.

Dany leaned forward slightly. ‘You are the missing piece in all of the best stories I’ve heard while I’ve been here,’ she told Bilbo. ‘I thought Fili and Kili were making you up!’

‘They’re not that bright,’ grumbled Balin. ‘Bilbo Baggins is very real, as you can see, and we never would have taken back this mountain without him.’

‘I would hear such stories told in your own words, if I may,’ suggested Daenerys, grinning at the looks on Fili and Kili’s faces.

‘Alright,’ agreed Bilbo. ‘But they won’t like it much, I can promise you that.’

Daenerys winked at him, and he flushed deep red again. ‘I sincerely hope that’s true.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took far too long writing this so I nipped it in the bud before it could get completely away from me, sorry


	10. Fable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but the exams are over so enjoy this nice long update!

It was difficult to have anything resembling a private conversation with the Hobbit over the roar of the dwarves’ table talk, so Dany contented herself with listening to them reminisce about more recent victories. Their mood was still soured in the direction of the elves, and Dany was not surprised that they chose to tell her of a time when they were captured and held by none other than Thranduil, in his woodland halls.

 Bilbo tried to explain that it had not been true imprisonment, that their quarters were quite comfortable, and Thranduil only wanted to know where they were going, but he was drowned out by loud protestations from the dwarves. Bilbo rolled his eyes and grumbled ‘Oh very well then, tell it your way.’ The dwarves proceeded to do just that, and launched into a very elaborate and exciting story of how they escaped the elven prison in old barrels used for storing food and wine. Dany had to admire their resourcefulness.

‘Whose idea was it to use the barrels?’ she asked, when the excitement had died down some.

Fili grinned at her. ‘The smartest one in the group,’ he replied. ‘We wouldn’t have gotten very far at all without our brave Mister Baggins here.’

Dany marveled. For one so small and timid it appeared the Bilbo had been more than just a mere cog in the dwarf war machine.

‘King Thorin must have rewarded you greatly for your efforts,’ she remarked, sipping her drink. The atmosphere was mellowing her out more than she’d thought possible, and she quite felt like trying a puff of whatever they were smoking so consistently. Truthfully, this was more relaxed than she’d felt even the night before, drinking with Fili and Kili. There were muscles in her body she’d thought would never fully uncoil, but this was as close as true contentment came for her these days.

Bilbo raised his eyes at her comment, and chuckled slightly. ‘Well, not at first he didn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Dany. She hadn’t meant to bring Thorin up – it had simply been an errant thought – but now that she had, she realized that Bilbo was the perfect person to provide her with a better look at the king. He had none of the dwarven bias that the others were prone to, either because of their loyalty or because they were unconsciously obliged to view their king in a favourable light. Bilbo, however, seemed like a gruff, practical kind of character, who did not favour the dwarven bawdiness or rough behaviour. She saw him discreetly clean the end of a pipe one of the dwarves handed him with what she was sure was an embroidered handkerchief.

She smiled slightly as Bilbo considered her question. Yes, this one was different.

‘Well, Thorin was never the easiest fellow to get along with, as I’m sure you know,’ Bilbo said, gesturing with his pipe. The dwarves had fallen to almost silence now, as they settled back in their own chairs. Dwarves, it seemed, had the uncanny ability to sniff out a story still in the womb.

Daenerys smiled, though was wary of saying anything that might appear derogatory. ‘Well … he’s certainly set in his ways.’

Bilbo huffed a laugh. ‘It’s alright, we all know he’s a stubborn as an old mule, and twice as hairy.’

Daenerys gave a startled laugh, and the look of surprise on her face had all the dwarves chuckling good-naturedly.

‘Ah don’t think the khaleesi is used to Thorin being spoken of in such terms, but ah’ll agree with you there laddie,’ said Bofur, grinning at Bilbo over the rim of his cup.

‘Hey, less of the “laddie” lark, alright?’ replied Bilbo indignantly. ‘I’m over sixty now, that’s quite a respectable old age for any hobbit I’ll have you know.’

‘Sixty?’ asked Daenerys with some confusion. She half-laughed again, in disbelief. ‘You cannot be sixty, surely? I’ve seen men in their fortieth summer with hair greyer than yours.’

‘Well I don’t know what they’re feeding you over there in Westeros,’ Bilbo said, rather smugly. ‘Though I am in remarkably good shape for my age, it’s true.’

‘Aye, must be all that adventurin’ you were doing,’ remarked Bofur, winking, and they all laughed again as Bilbo blushed, but managed to sniff in a thoroughly dignified manner and shake his finger at them, puffing on his pipe like a little lord. He reminded her rather a lot of Ser Barristan, Daenerys thought fondly. He was more pompous, yes, and obviously shorter – a good deal shorter … she had to bite her lip to smother a smile as she mentally compared the two of them. Nevertheless, she thought they would get along just fine.

‘Please, Bilbo,’ she said, trying to sound encouraging. ‘Please, go on.’

Bilbo caught her tone, and her eye. He paused briefly, and Daenerys saw indeed that there were far more years of wisdom in his eyes than his smooth skin and curly hair would indicate. She held his gaze while the merriment around them simmered down, and she saw understanding dawn in his eyes. He nodded, very slightly, and Dany caught the meaning in his eyes.

‘Thorin and I didn’t get off to a very good start,’ Bilbo explained, and Dany saw the dwarves tune in. Dany knew that this was to set the scene; she expected an unabridged version later.

‘I missed home,’ Bilbo admitted. ‘Or rather, I didn’t have time to miss home – this lot practically dragged me out my front door, willy nilly, without so much as a pocket handkerchief or anything to fill my pipe.’

‘Oi! We did not!’ retorted Kili indignantly. ‘I recall you arriving long after we’d left, much out of breath, shouting at us to wait up.’ The other dwarves murmured agreement, looking amused.

‘Yes well,’ huffed Bilbo. ‘I don’t recall getting much say in the matter in either case. They’d eaten me out of hearth and home anyways – restocking the pantry would have taken up practically all my savings, so, err, it was in my best interests to go with you. At the very least I thought it was fair repayment for all they’d eaten.’

‘We didn’t eat that much,’ said Balin reasonably.

‘Judging from what I saw last night, I’d be inclined to believe Bilbo,’ remarked Dany unthinkingly, and started at the shout of laughter that came from the little hobbit. The dwarves around them laughed again, and more drink was called for.

‘As I was saying,’ continued Bilbo, when everyone appeared sated once more. ‘I wasn’t used to the sort of adventuring that Thorin had in mind. It started off with pony rides in the sunshine, and ended up with us tussling with hungry trolls, great brutes who wanted to skin us alive!’

Dany had no idea what trolls might be, but she didn’t want to interrupt Bilbo again. The night was pressing on and she was eager to bend his ear in private about Thorin.

‘I was hired until what you could call extremely false pretenses,’ said Bilbo, tamping down the stuff in his pipe and lighting it afresh. ‘I was no burglar, and it didn’t take Thorin long to see that. I missed home. I miss it even now, after all my wanderings. I’ve been almost everywhere in Middle Earth over the last few years. My feet never lost the itch, until recently. Now that my little sojourn is almost at an end, I can feel Bag End, calling me home.’ Bilbo’s eyes grew a little misty at that, and Dany hope he wasn’t going to trail off into thoughtfulness, for she didn’t think she had the heart to snap him out of it.

Thankfully, he pulled himself back, and continued. He told her of the same events she had already heard of, but this time from his perspective. She heard of his part in freeing the dwarves from the elven prison, and how he fought off monstrous spiders and flew on the backs of eagles. And through it all, she heard his admiration for Thorin in every word he spoke of him, although most of it described Thorin sullen, silent, or trying to send Bilbo home.

When she heard of their terrible fight on the eve of the final battle, the one the dwarves called The Battle of the Five Armies, Dany was amazed that a friendship could grow from that kind of upset, even after their apparent reconciliation. Whole families were destroyed because of a single slight on one man’s honour in Westeros. She remembered the stories she’d heard of the fate of the Young Wolf at the Twins, a man she’d never known. And all he’d done was marry the wrong girl.

It was a very good story, and Bilbo told it well. But by the end of it, all Dany had to go on was that Thorin had an iron will and didn’t take kindly to anyone else telling him what to do. That wasn’t ruling, that was subjugating. But these dwarves weren’t subjugated, they were free. Dany rubbed her forehead. She was no better off now than when he’d began his story.

She did feel, however, that there was far more to Thorin Oakenshield than he was letting on, and Bilbo was most certainly the one who could show her that hidden side.

One by one, the dwarves began to drift away, either to sleep or to get more drink. In one dwarf’s case – the one who’d fallen on the floor earlier – both actions were attempted, resulting in his face meeting the floor once again. The round-faced dwarf with the braided beard picked him up with ease and slung him over his shoulder. ‘Come on Ori,’ Dany heard him say, carrying him out of the room.

Fili and Kili weren’t long in sloping off together after that, hands fluttering around each other but not necessarily touching. Dany hid a smile behind her hand as she watched them stumble over one another in their haste to get to the door, without wanting to seem over-eager. Bilbo watched her expression carefully, smiling when he caught her attention.

‘Noticed that, have you?’ he asked calmly, helping himself to a crumpet.

Dany didn’t know how to respond, but Bilbo’s tone seemed safely neutral.

‘Yes,’ she replied, glancing swiftly around the table. The fat one, Bombur, had been snoring for a while, and Balin appeared to be in a deep sleep beside Dany. Neither appeared to be in any hurry to wake up, so Dany made a swift decision. She picked up a pipe lying forgotten on the table, and swept up some of the brown weed she’d watched them smoking all evening. She glanced up at Bilbo, who had raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Mimicking the actions she remembered, she put the weed into the pipe, tamping it down with her fingers, and then looked around for a match or something to light it with.

‘Here.’ Bilbo was suddenly at her shoulder. Dany didn’t startle easily, but gods he was silent. She wordlessly held out the pipe to him, and saw that he was holding his small tinderbox.

‘I don’t know how - ’

‘You need to put the end in your mouth,’ said Bilbo, striking the match. ‘And when the flame takes, you inhale – not so much at first, just until you feel it hit the back of your throat. Then you inhale again, until you feel it here,’ he placed his hand on his sternum. ‘It might make you a little - ’

Danny inhaled, and nearly dropped the pipe when she felt the burn in her throat. She quickly inhaled again, and this time let it inflate her lungs. It tasted earthy and bitter; it burned her mouth and made her eyes water.

‘And breathe out,’ instructed Bilbo, who looked half-amused, half-terrified that he was going to kill her. Dany breathed out, and felt a shiver of delight when a broad plume of smoke unfurled from her mouth and rose into the ceiling to join the fading clouds from earlier.

‘Amazing,’ she coughed, unused to the smoke this close to her head, but unwilling to wave it away.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Bilbo assured her, hopping up on the seat next to her. ‘Do they not smoke pipes back in Westeros?’

‘Not if you’re high born,’ replied Daenerys. Bilbo raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment further.

‘I was just so curious,’ Daenerys continued, taking another tentative pull on the pipe. This one went down smoother, and she felt it inflate her lungs and fill her head with a pleasant lightness.

‘So, Mister Baggins,’ she said, tapping the bowl of the pipe thoughtfully with her finger, not knowing if it did anything but enjoying the slight burn of it against the soft pad of her finger. It felt like touching one of Drogo’s scales after he’d had one of his fire fits. ‘I gather you’ve noticed that Thorin and I had something of an argument.’

‘I did notice a certain …  tension,’ admitted Bilbo, swinging his legs slightly. ‘I think you want to know him better, don’t you?’

Daenerys nodded slowly, watching him. ‘From the moment I met him I saw how he commanded instant respect, and not respect born from fear either. They _love_ him.’ She paused, frustrated. ‘My first army loved me. I freed slaves, Bilbo. Thousands upon thousands of slaves I set free. I gave them a choice, too; to follow me, or try make it on their own. And so many did follow me, because …’ she hesitated. ‘Because they had nowhere else to go. My Unsullied army were bred for blood – they followed me because they knew no other way of life. And they loved me, they did …’ She paused again, trying to remember if that was true or not.

‘My _khalasar_ , they called me the mother of dragons,’ she said, and she smiled. ‘Such loyal people. They have followed me from the very beginning.’ She paused again, looking at the pipe thoughtfully. A frown creased her brow slightly. ‘But now, I rule over countless numbers of people, each family one bad marriage alliance away from starting a revolt that could bring the kingdoms down upon me. Gods, even now King’s Landing could be overthrown in my absence. I risked all, coming here, to seek counsel, or guidance, or … anything!’ she exclaimed, gesturing with her pipe. Her blood was rising.

‘I sought a ruler, and all I have found, apparently, is one no better than a conquering brute,’ she said, frustrated. ‘And yet he commands an entire mountain of dwarves, and I have no idea how he does it.’

She fell silent, and Bilbo urged her to take another pull of the pipe. ‘Trust me,’ he said, when she showed reluctance. ‘It’ll help with the strain.’

Daenerys did not want him to think she was some hot-blooded woman who could not control her emotions, so she followed his advice and found that it did indeed help her to relax. Nevertheless, her worries waited for her, resting heavily on her mind.

‘You know, the two of you share many similar qualities,’ Bilbo mused, chewing on the end of his pipe.

Dany adjusted herself in the seat – she’d been sitting there for well over an hour now – and raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you insulting my manners, Mister Baggins?’ she asked, teasing him gently, but curious despite herself.

‘No I’m – ah, you’re joking, ha ha yes I see, make fun of the hobbit, they _all_ do, I’m used to it.’ He broke off as Dany began laughing, a bright, honest laugh that was rather unlike her. He smiled, eyes crinkling. ‘That suits you, that laughter,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you get much chance to laugh, do you?’

Dany’s laughter subsided, and she returned his gaze rather solemnly. ‘No,’ she said softly, shaking her head.

Bilbo nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. And that’s what I mean.’ He pause meaningfully, and then continued when Dany looked confused.

‘Thorin was king far before his time,’ he said. Dany’s attention immediately sharpened, and she sat up a little straighter.

‘What do you mean?’ she pressed, trying not to sound too eager. The pipe lay on the table, forgotten.

‘Thorin’s father, Thrain, was next in line for the throne,’ explained Bilbo. ‘Thror – Thorin’s grandfather – died in the battle to reclaim the ancient mines of Moria. Thrain survived the battle, or so they thought. But he disappeared. Some say he couldn’t handle the grief of his father’s dead on top of the loss of their home and the pressures of finding them a new one as king. Other’s say he was killed, or went mad. It didn’t matter, not to Thorin anyways. As far as he knew, his father was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Thorin mourned him that day, also.’

Bilbo fell silent for a moment as he refilled his pipe, and Dany tried to absorb that before he could begin again.

‘And he spent years trying to find them a new home,’ he said. ‘And although they settled in the Blue Mountains, they were never really home, you know? Not truly. Not for Thorin, anyways. So he was always trying to find a way back, to reclaim the mountain. For sixty years, he waited, along with those still loyal to him. Can you imagine? Thorin Oakenshield, a blacksmith?’ Dany shook her head slowly, and Bilbo nodded. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Nor can I. But he was. Until he gathered this small band, of twelve dwarves, one wizard, and one hobbit, and set off to reclaim his home.’

Bilbo sighed. ‘Of course, I had no idea about all that. I heard small parts of the story along the way, but never really understood it. How could I have? My world was one of gardens and well-stocked pantries – not goblins and fire and dragons! I had no idea … And he could be cruel, Thorin. Oh aye, he could.’ Dany look surprised, and he met her gaze evenly. ‘The fight hardened Thorin. I don’t know what he was like before, but it was a lot different to what he’s like now. He’s relaxed some, but not entirely … years spent running, hiding, fighting. I’m sure you know what that’s like, my lady.’

Dany nodded, but didn’t speak. Bilbo rolled his shoulders and took another pull of his pipe before continuing.

‘Anyways, Thorin, as you can imagine, didn’t take kindly to my pining after my home. At least I still had a home, though I began to think more and more that I would never see it again. We quarreled; I thought him stubborn, and hateful, and he told me on more than one occasion to go home, that I didn’t belong. I nearly did too. But there was something in Thorin … something that made you think he was the one. That this dwarf … was going to change everything. He has this aura, it’s almost indescribable. You feel powerful by just standing near him. To be included as one of his party – as one of his trusted allies – that was a feeling of importance that I’d never felt before. I’ve never felt it since, not even with all the incredible places I’ve visited and people I’ve met. It was an impossible task. Elrond called it reckless; Thranduil openly called it foolish. But I just felt that if anyone could do it … it was Thorin Oakenshield. He made me believe.’

Bilbo stopped; he looked unused to such speeches, and took a long drink of whatever was in his cup. Dany took advantage of the break to think about what he’d said. They were indeed more alike than she’d thought.

‘But I still don’t understand,’ she said, trying not to sound desperate. ‘How does he command such a position of power from his allies? From the elves, and men?’

‘He didn’t conquer any of them,’ said Bilbo gravely, but Dany shook her head.

‘No, I don’t mean it like that,’ she said. ‘He has no charm or grace, no tactical diplomatic advisors. Why do they respect him so? Because they do; I could see it in their eyes.’

‘Aye, they do,’ agreed Bilbo. ‘I think it’s because of what he has done. Thorin’s a hard character to like, but he never asks you to like him, my lady. He only does what he’s tried to do for as long as I’ve known him. He tries to lead these people, and give them good lives. He strives to be a king, not a friend. They respect him for what he has done … but also for what they know he will do, to keep them safe.’

‘They do not think it weakness?’ Dany asked quietly.

Bilbo shook his head. ‘No. But perhaps it is because they have seen so much hardship, that they are willing to accept kindness, no matter through what medium it comes to them.’

They were silent for a while, Dany tapping the side of her pipe, which had gone out, though she felt no desire for it now.

‘What stopped you?’ asked Dany, abruptly, after a few minutes.

Bilbo raised his head, eyebrows lifted in a questioning glance. ‘What do you mean, my lady?’

‘What stopped you from leaving? After you had fought, and he told you to leave.’

Bilbo shrugged delicately. ‘Goblins, I suppose.’

Dany frowned. ‘What?’

‘I was about to leave when we were set upon by goblins,’ said Bilbo, simply. ‘If it weren’t for them I probably would have left, and then fallen off a cliff somewhere,’ he continued, thoughtfully. ‘And if that had happened, we never would have gotten into the mountain in the first place. So I suppose we must thank the bloodthirsty nature of goblins in combating the stubborn nature of Thorin Oakenshield; without them, we’d never have won the war.’

He sounded so matter-of-fact that Dany burst out laughing; a full-bodied laugh that felt as good as twelve hours sleep. Bilbo joined in, chuckling merrily.

‘ ‘S’all the noise ‘bout?’ mumbled a sleepy Bombur from the end of the table, half-surfacing from slumber.

‘Nothing, Bombur,’ Bilbo reassured him, still smiling, as they calmed down. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘ ‘S’there more food?’

‘No, no more food.’

‘Oh … pity …’ He trailed off into unconsciousness again.

‘I should be going too,’ Dany remarked, stretching her legs out and arching her back. There was something about the hobbit that made her feel extremely relaxed, and now her eyes were drooping at last. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Bilbo. I cannot thank you enough for your insight. I feel … better.’

Bilbo nodded, hopping down from his seat and offering her his arm. She took it, hiding a smile at his formality, and they walked out together.

‘I hope you’ll favour me with some of your own stories tomorrow,’ said Bilbo, as they crossed the quiet hall together. ‘I have a notion that they’re far more interesting than any of mine.’

Dany smiled wryly, glad that Bilbo couldn’t see. ‘My good Mister Baggins, I could tell you tales that would make the hair on your feet turn white.’ She laughed delightedly when she felt the little hobbit shudder at her words, and she squeezed his arm comfortingly. Tomorrow, she would talk to Thorin. He could shout her out of any room he cared to, but his beard will have grown long indeed before he can match a Targaryen for fire power. She would get to the bottom of this mysterious dwarf, possessor of hidden guile and strength, before she returned to Westeros. Daenerys had a strong gut feeling – and her gut was never wrong – that this hidden quality Bilbo spoke of was just the one she needed to extinguish the fires of dissent that raged across the Seven Kingdoms. She swallowed guiltily at the thought; hopefully the knowledge would not come too late. 


	11. Felicity

Thorin was trying his best not to brood, but there was little else to do once the Elven delegation had finally cleared out of the valley before the mountain. Their elaborate leaving ceremony was delayed even further by the more scholarly elves being very eager to examine the dragon’s “leavings” and study the claw marks the beast had left on the ground. They were more like great furrows in the land, like those of a plough. This somewhat spoiled their dramatic storming out of Thorin’s halls, but elves will be elves, and even in the midst of great outrage, Thranduil followed tradition.

It was that same tradition that had spared his race countless times, he had often argued. The same manner of thinking that had cautioned him against coming to the dwarves’ aid the day Smaug attacked. It was an old argument between the two of them, but the wound still felt fresh to Thorin. It smarted even more every time he saw Fili wince when he twisted the wrong way and pulled at the damaged parts of his ribs, parts that their physicians said would always be fragile after suffering such a break. Dwalin had growled and said they hadn’t been broken as much as they had been smashed to so many smithereens.

Or when Thorin himself lifted his beard to wash and saw the huge, white scar disfiguring his throat. Kings were supposed to have scars, but Thorin could have done without this one.

He fingered one of the blunt, metal rings on his finger. They had been so perilously close to defeat, that day. It could have swung either way. The memory still haunted him.

‘You still treat it as a defeat,’ Bilbo had said to him, after Thorin had kicked the elves out. He’d said it quietly, his eyes on the retreating elves, after bidding a polite, if still slightly intimidated, farewell to Lord Elrond.

Thorin hadn’t answered him then, choosing to remain silently dignified as the elves openly insulted him by turning their backs on his hospitality – such as it was – but he had a feeling it was an open-ended conversation that Bilbo would surely return to.

Thorin was attempting to study one of the ancient volumes detailing the history of the line of Durin, which really was quite fascinating once you separated the dusty, over-zealous prose from the actual fact buried amongst it. Thorin had never been much of a reader or scholar – a trait he saw reflected in both of his nephews – but five heavy tomes had been recovered from the rubble in Thror’s personal chambers during the excavation of Erebor. It had taken the dwarves two months to tunnel through to those inner chambers, so close to Smaug’s den, which had collapsed when he’d first broken through the walls nearest the treasury, and then again when he’d exited them sixty years later.

Accoring to Dwalin, what they’d found he’d feared surely lost, burnt up, or simply disintegrated over the years without proper care. Dwalin was an unexpected lover of such old writings, mostly because they detailed the lives of great warrior kings. Balin was too, but his eyesight was too poor now for such minute study. Thorin was thinking about having Fili or Kili narrate some of the works for Balin, so he could enjoy them as he would have. Also, it would maybe instill some manners into his nephews, who had become unruly and boisterous again in the safety and comfort of Erebor.

He was particularly enjoying the parts that depicted great battles that his ancestors had won, or helped other races win. He became so engrossed in one particular tale, described by a young dwarf lamed before battle and who watched the entire thing from atop a cliff, that he didn’t hear the knock at his chamber door.

Thorin didn’t employ a servant to announce guests, feeling that it was far too pompous – he’d rarely had a bed to sleep in during their years as exiles from Erebor – so it was actually a few minutes later before he became aware of the timid tapping echoing quietly through the front of his rooms. He rolled his eyes and stubbornly decided to pretend he couldn’t hear; the entire city was built of stone and existed wrapped around a giant forge. One must learn to knock louder if you wanted to be heard at all.

The knocking eventually stopped, and Thorin relaxed. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on his reading while it had been going on. His eyes returned to the text, but before he’d even deciphered the first word, he was distracted again. This time, in the form of Bilbo Baggins falling face-first with a loud cry through his door.

The Thorin of old, he reflected musingly, would have jumped up in a rage and thrown Mister Baggins from the room for daring to intrude without permission. But he was certainly not that dwarf any longer. Probably he hadn’t been that dwarf since Bilbo had saved his life from Azog the Defiler on the burning cliffs.

He slowly pushed his chair back from the paper-strewn desk just as Bilbo was struggling to climb to his feet while simultaneously brushing himself off, and ultimately achieving neither. By the time Thorin reached him, he was on one knee, attempting to wrestle his handkerchief out of his pocket with a strained expression.

Thorin knelt beside him and gently stayed Bilbo’s hand. Bilbo stopped struggling immediately and looked at Thorin, who was once again slightly stunned by the ethereal quality of the hobbit’s eyes. They were the kind of golden brown Thorin had only scene before in some of the precious metals excavated from deep beneath the mountain.

Of course, the hobbit broke the spell with his customary forwardness. ‘So, you _are_ in here, after all,’ he grumbled, freeing his handkerchief at last and giving his face a quick dusting. Thorin rolled his eyes.

‘Yes, Bilbo,’ he said, as patiently as he could manage. ‘You would have discovered that a lot sooner, had you simply knocked louder.’

Bilbo huffed and puffed. ‘Well, it isn’t _my_ fault that you blasted dwarves feel the need to place your confounded door knockers so high up on your doors that I had to take a running _jump,_ if you don’t mind, just so I could reach the _handle_ , and then, you don’t even bother to close your door all the way! So in I flew and now here I am, bruised and dusty – dear me, the floor is so _very_ dusty.’ He peered owlishly at the floor, and Thorin felt a smile tweaking his mouth.

‘Well, I am not often here,’ he explained, extended a hand to the disgruntled hobbit. Bilbo eyed it, and then smiled a little apologetically at Thorin, before allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

Thorin stepped back a little and looked at his old friend, frowning a little. Bilbo had filled out in the last few years. He’d been positively scrawny when they’d parted ways, stretched too thin over the course of their journey. Too little food and too much adventure, he’d complained.

Now, however, it appeared a few years of comfortable travelling had done wonders for him. His hair was bright and curly again, his skin was unmarked and his eyes shone. He even had a tiny hint of muscle tone around his arms and legs, which were exposed by his customary garb of shirt and short trousers.

‘Something on my face?’ Bilbo asked, suddenly self-conscious, and Thorin’s beard twitched again.

‘No I was, ah.’ Thorin cleared his throat. ‘Travelling suits you.’

Bilbo grinned stupidly. ‘It does, doesn’t it,’ he agreed, following Thorin over to where he had been sitting, eager to get a look at the papers he could see, carelessly thrown on the huge wooden desk. Bilbo noticed that the legs were carved to resemble a dragon’s. He swallowed hard as he realized that it was not wood the desk was made out of, but rather …

‘Thorin,’ he ventured. ‘Is that _bone_?’

Thorin cocked an eyebrow, and followed his gaze. ‘Yes,’ he said, somewhat defensively. ‘A beast cut down by my great-great grandfather. Dragon bone is stronger than half of the metals we work with. Certainly superior to stone or wood. Fitting, that it should serve me, now.’

‘Fitting,’ Bilbo repeated, musingly. He ran his hand over the smoothly carved surface, marveling at its soft bronze colour.

‘Are all dragon bones this colour?’ he asked, looking up at Thorin, who was standing behind his desk now.

Thorin frowned again. ‘Well, we don’t have too many examples,’ he said, slightly irritably, but Bilbo didn’t even blink.

‘I was just thinking about the dragon Lady Daenerys arrived on,’ he said, casually. ‘We saw it, you know. Flew right over us.’ He laughed. ‘You should have seen their faces!’

Thorin smiled. ‘You were not scared?’

Bilbo shrugged. ‘Nah,’ he said, too casually, but Thorin didn’t interrupt. ‘Nothing I haven’t seen before, eh?’

‘No, indeed,’ Thorin agreed, hearing his voice soften to a tone he rarely used anymore. Not in recent years.

 Bilbo rose from his crouch, and circled the desk, hands automatically reaching out to push sliding papers back into a more secure position on the table. His hands, pleasantly browned from time spent in the sun, gently selected different loose pages from the piles, through some manner of identification that Thorin could not fathom, until he had a small sheaf of them in his hands. It wasn’t until he’d spread them all out on the desk atop the others that Thorin could see the pattern that the hobbit’s eyes had picked out.

Each of the five pages depicted a dragon, or various parts of dragons. One particularly fine one in the centre held a beautiful illustration of a dragon’s eye, drawn so sharply that Thorin didn’t have to think hard to recall the fierce, unblinking stare he’d almost been caught in before the battle raged over them and saved him from evisceration.

‘Balin told me about these,’ Bilbo muttered, as his eyes searched the remaining loose documents for anything he might have missed. ‘And, after talking with the Lady, I was wondering if … ah, yes!’

He pulled one final page from the table, and held it up to the light. Thorin’s breath caught in his throat as he beheld the hobbit’s discovery.

The page was mostly text, which was why Bilbo had first missed it. But in the top right hand corner there was a small diagram, the ink almost faded away. It showed the silhouette of a flying dragon, between the sky and the horizon. Below it, quick lines indicated a sea, and a few small dots that might have been ships.

But what instantly drew Thorin’s eye was the tiny figure shown sitting atop the dragon’s back, just before the wing joint. It was little more than a stick etching, a bare indication – but it was there. Human proportions too, rather than dwarvish.

‘There,’ said Bilbo softly, sounding pleased with himself. ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’

Thorin couldn’t answer. Outrage was stirring inside of him; not at Bilbo, but at the fact that nowhere in his entire life had he ever heard anything like this before. Never so much as a hint.

‘Dwarves never draw anything without a purpose, and they never fictionalize,’ Bilbo was saying. ‘Those are two facts I learned about you lot, in the time I spent with you on your mad adventure. Great story tellers, but not story _makers_ , in my experience.’

‘This is unheard of,’ Thorin said in quiet amazement, reaching out to take the paper from Bilbo.

‘I know,’ he replied, sounding excited. ‘That sound set the Lady’s mind at ease, somewhat. I must go and tell her.’

He hopped down from the table and started across the room. Thorin cast the paper down.

‘Leaving so soon?’ he asked, sourly, and quietly horrified that he cared so much.

Bilbo stopped, and turned around, looking surprised.

‘I thought – I thought I interrupted you,’ he said, uncertainly.

Thorin thought it rather twisted that he actually preferred being angry at the hobbit sometimes. It was unpleasant, but at least it made more sense to him than wanting to draw him close and show him everything that had ever made Thorin smile. Bilbo was not supposed to affect him this way. A hobbit was not supposed to affect a _king_ this way.

‘You did,’ he replied, curtly. ‘I just thought you had more to say. You usually have … quite a lot to say.’

Bilbo frowned. ‘I just … Thorin, have I done something wrong?’

Thorin sighed, frustrated. ‘Oh, for the love of the Gods. Master Baggins, your time here will soon be at an end. I suggest you return to your chambers and get some rest.’

Bilbo’s expression turned annoyed, and he glared. ‘Well. I suppose it's comforting to know that at least some things haven’t changed, Thorin.’

‘My Lord,’ Thorin corrected him between gritted teeth. Bilbo’s expression flickered with surprise, and a tiny bit of hurt. The scar on Thorin’s throat suddenly twitched with pain, and he tried not to wince.

‘Very well,’ Bilbo forced out, in clipped tones. ‘My Lord.’

Thorin watched him leave, desperately hoping that he would turn around before he got to the door. Even if it was just to yell at him.

Bilbo didn’t turn around. He wedged his shoulder into the door - which Thorin did actually like to leave ajar, just so he wasn’t cut off – and wriggled his way out of the room. As he did so, one of his buttons popped off the embroidered waistcoat he was wearing over his shirt, pinging across the floor almost silently. If Thorin hadn’t been so fixed on Bilbo’s movements as he was, he might have missed it.

Bilbo did not notice. He was gone, and the door was barely an inch further open than it had been before.

Thorin crossed the room, cursing himself, and picked up the button. It was a small, tarnished one, nothing special. Nothing Elvish, or man-made. It was a hobbit button. Something about Bilbo continuing to wear his old clothes from the Shire instead of the new, fancy ones that his various hosts had surely been plying him with, warmed a part of Thorin that had been cold for quite some time.

Not to mention that he could have bought himself a wardrobe fit to garb a prince of Gondor with the gold he’d won from Smaug, if he so chose. Thorin rolled his eyes as he thought of that little chest of riches, probably sitting somewhere unobstrusive in Bilbo’s well-stocked home, untouched. Knowing Bilbo, there would be a doily placed neatly over it, or perhaps some sort of crocheted blanket or throw. Brightly coloured and an insult to the craftsmen and smiths whose work went into all the fabulous pieces inside.

It was all so very Bilbo. Thorin’s chest suddenly ached.

He tried to go back to his reading, but couldn’t concentrate. The button lay beside his hand, on a stack of papers now hopelessly ruffled out of whatever order Thorin had been reading them in. Bilbo had siphoned through them all in under a minute to find the ones he’d wanted, without even knowing they’d be there. It took Thorin about twenty minutes just to read one paragraph, let alone interpret it.

He thought about Bilbo, running to Daenerys to tell her about the drawing he’d found. Thorin eyed the page lying at the edge of his desk, and thought wryly that she might be more impressed if Bilbo had actually thought to bring the evidence with him. The hobbit was smart – he’d proved that on more than one occasion – but he was so damn excitable. If Thorin hadn’t been busy being a stubborn mule, he might have felt like reminding Bilbo of that fact.

The minutes ticked by. Thorin was reduced to watching one of the oil lamps perched securely in a purpose-built dent on the desk. He wondered how long until he’d have to replace the oil.

When the loud, heavy knock resounded through his chamber, he thought it was Dwalin, who often liked to stop by during the night. Often he wouldn’t talk much; they’d just sit in relative silence, smoking a pipe or two and thinking. The journey to Erebor had taken its toll on Thorin’s company in more than just physical ways. No matter the hour, Thorin always left his door ajar for those who also resented the ringing silence of sleepless nights. 

‘Come in,’ he rumbled. For a moment, nothing happened, and then he heard a strained noise of exertion, and the door creaked open just a little bit. It was a heavy thing, made of stone, and was not easily pushed. Thorin raised an eyebrow.

‘Why is … everything in this … _damn_ mountain … made out of … bloody … stone!’ With a last valiant effort, Bilbo squeezed back through the door, popping out on the other side with slightly more dignity than the last time, but with one less button on his vest.

Thorin barely spared him a glance. ‘Come back for your paper, have you?’ he asked, pretending to be reading, hastily flicking the pages on a bit so Bilbo wouldn’t know he’d been staring at the same page since he’d left.

Bilbo didn’t answer immediately. Thorin assumed he was straightening his clothes or ignoring him altogether.

So it was a surprise to him when he eventually looked up and saw Bilbo staring rather shame-facedly at his toes.

‘Mister Baggins, are you quite all –‘

‘Don’t call me that,’ Bilbo interrupted, quietly. ‘Thorin. Don’t. Don’t pretend like we haven’t huddled in a filthy hole in the ground while orcs and goblins and all manner of filth prowled around us, Thorin, just don’t.’

Thorin abandoned all pretense of reading now. ‘Bilbo, I - ’

‘No, it’s all right,’ Bilbo said, impatiently. ‘I understand, it’s been a few years and you’re a king again. I was just … earlier, I mean. I thought I’d been too familiar.’

He sounded so painfully honest that Thorin’s face creased in sympathy and regret.

‘No, Bilbo,’ he said, softly, standing up. ‘Never.’

He crossed the room, beckoning Bilbo further in. Bilbo hesitated, then slowly advanced from the door, looking slightly nervous.

Thorin couldn’t really figure out how to word exactly what was going on inside his head. He hadn’t lived up to Daenerys’ expectations, and he certainly hadn’t lived up to Bilbo’s, and damn it if he wasn’t just a little jealous with how much Daenerys had accomplished. All the stories she’d told with complete conviction had made him feel like he had no right to be moping, unable to sleep at night because of the wreaths of flames he saw whenever he closed his eyes, Fili and Kili's screams of pain echoing through his head, and his own rattled breathing that got deeper and more difficult when he lay down because of the wound on his throat. Daenerys was a child, and she slept soundly with a kingdom under one thumb and three dragons – three! – writhing around her small, pale body.

So he really had very little to say to Bilbo when they met in the centre of his chambers. Which was fortunate, since the monumental trust he saw in Bilbo’s eyes floored him and rendered any thoughts of speech temporarily impossible.

‘Thorin, I know this must be hard for you,’ Bilbo said, gently. ‘And honestly, you don’t have to apologize to me, or the _Khaleesi_ , or anyone else for that matter.’

‘She is a queen of seven kingdoms,’ Thorin began, unsteadily. ‘She’s …’

‘She has come from a far different world than you or I,’ Bilbo said, firmly. ‘And yes, she’s a queen in her own right. But I have only spent one evening with her and already I can see the envy in her eyes. The loss, and the pain. She has no family, Thorin. No kin. She was raised with vipers and has been an orphan ever since. Her allies are soldiers, her women friends, handmaidens. Servants. I think Daenerys is a very lonely child who wonders how you could have an entire _mountain_ of dwarves ready to die for you, not out of service but out of _love_ , Thorin!’ Bilbo’s eyes were bright as he spoke, in a fervent rush, and Thorin’s mouth was probably hanging open but he couldn’t do anything about it.

‘She wants to learn from you,’ Bilbo said, face upturned to Thorin’s. ‘From _you_. Not Thranduil, or Elrond, or anyone else.’

‘You’ve spoken to her?’ Thorin asked, vocal chords briefly engaging. His voice was more hoarse than usual.

‘I spent the evening with her, yes,’ Bilbo said, a little pride creeping into his voice. ‘She was most curious about our adventures together. Now, I’m not much of a story-teller, but I gave her the long and short of it, as best I could.’ Bilbo’s eyes turned soft. ‘She was very impressed, Thorin. You’ve been holding out on her.’

Thorin sighed, annoyed. ‘There is no point in retelling old heroics. Leave that to the bards, who sing about it to old mothers and their bairns.’

‘No one’s asking you to blow your own horn, you mutton-head!’ Bilbo snapped, exasperated, and Thorin was so startled that he forgot about being embarrassed.

‘What did you …?' He trailed off in amazement, and then laughed. It was a deep belly-laugh, and it made him feel better than he had in a long time.

The corners of Bilbo’s mouth turned up in an unwilling smile, as he watched Thorin with chagrined amusement.

‘All right, all right,’ he grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye as Thorin coughed himself back to coherency.

‘Bilbo,’ he began, ‘once again, you surprise me. I’d forgotten.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘And I suppose you’re right. She is so young … and if she wants to learn ... well, who am I to deny her her choice of teacher.’

Bilbo beamed at him. ‘There, you see,’ he said, delighted. ‘Honestly, Thorin, look around you. Who _wouldn’t_ want to take a few lessons from you?’ He paused, sniffed, and said ‘Table manners and tact, though – I’d leave that to somebody else.’

‘Thank you,’ said Thorin, dryly. Despite his tone, he felt an almost overwhelming rush of affection for the hobbit.

‘Come here and tell me what Daenerys said about the drawing,’ he said, putting an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and leading him over to the desk. Bilbo came eagerly, hopping up on to the raised part of the floor to stand over the desk. Thorin hovered behind him, watching Bilbo’s hands move as he assembled the various pieces of parchment.

‘She said it could well have been one of her ancestors, on one of his dragons,’ he began, excitedly. ‘Vhagar, maybe, or Meraxes. Not Balerion though, she said, he would have destroyed you all. There were other names – I must get her to write them down. She said it’s in her blood, this closeness to dragons. Men call them the dragonlords …’

He continued to talk in this manner, gesturing to various pages and sketches of dragons, indicating where Daenerys said they differed, based on her experience and Bilbo’s own memory, cursing himself several times for not bringing her the drawing themselves before she retired for the night …  promising to do it on the morrow, while it was still mostly fresh in her mind …

Thorin watched as his hands gestured and pointed, watched his mouth move, and felt entranced. To think that this little hobbit, who bore a long, white scar of a goblin blade on the back of his arm and another, thicker scar on his leg from a dragon claw, was the same individual who had made Thorin’s entire company stop because he had forgotten his pocket handkerchief.

The same hobbit who had thrown himself at the orc intent on killing Thorin where he lay, prone and helpless.

So Thorin let him ramble, watching his face rather than listening to his words, which were full of names of dragons and men long dead, and enjoyed the way it made him feel when Bilbo’s eyes sparkled and danced, and his mouth quirked into funny shapes as he pronounced the unfamiliar names. Thorin found it truly remarkable that a creature like Bilbo could even stand Thorin’s company for more than a few minutes, let alone relax enough in his presence to flap and gush about history.

And when his words had finally run out, their one-sided conversation continued silently as they contemplated each other. Thorin’s hand had found its way to Bilbo’s waist as he’d spoken, and Bilbo had leaned into him, unconsciously. There was a heavy weight of familiarity between them, and it wrapped around them like a cloak of the softest fur. Bilbo’s eyes were soft, and golden, and they seemed to say _I know you_. Thorin felt a thousand miles away, but he was not alone. It was so easy for that line to blur and slip away along with any need for caution, or defense. He knew this. He trusted this.

It was easy, then, to bend his head and press their foreheads together, feeling Bilbo’s breath hitch, but not alarmingly so. His small hand rested on Thorin’s forearm, which was braced against the desk. His head tilted as Thorin’s dipped, and their kiss was a soft memory, a brushing of two lives that, no matter how far apart they grew, were still eternally intertwined on the one path. Soft, yet strong, like love was.

They kissed, and they remembered.

Thorin was a king by right and by birth. But it was only rare moments like these where he felt that his life was worth so much more than that.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed I updated the tags. It's small and imperfect but yep it's Baggenshield. My way of saying I'm sorry for the monumental, unacceptable delay in updating.


End file.
